The Roaring Nineties
by Cervantes Diderot
Summary: Coco Potter was more than content to trot her way into an early grave. Smoking cigarettes and flirting with many men while society looked on judgmentally. Instead she finds herself forced sixty-seven years into the future. A place where House Potter rests close to ruin, politicians play their games with Goblin-forged blades, and the Girl-Who-Lived is in desperate need of rescue.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: The Barlow's Shadow.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling or her publishing company.

OOOO

 **London, 1924**

 _A young girl stood with rigid posture as the entirety of the British, wizarding aristocracy peered down their noses at her. She was no Greengrass, Malfoy, Fawley, nor the descendant of any other notable, pureblood lines. This fact seemed to fascinate the more skeptical patriarchs and matriarchs who found themselves wondering how the Potters had become so influential in a mere generation. Adelais Fleamont, they swiftly decided, had started it all by wedding Jacinth Potter many years prior. The heiress was well known to be beautiful, intelligent, wealthy, pure of blood, and a cunning Slytherin to the very core. That famous determination of House Potter to steer clear of the spotlight, despite their immense wealth and many innovations, was effectively shattered._

 _The woman went on to birth two boys. The younger was Charlus Potter who exhibited an aptitude for duelling from his first year at Hogwarts. Her eldest son, Henry, proved to have an intelligence sharp enough for the cutthroat world of wizarding politics. Despite her husband's disapproval Adelais meddled until Charlus was a prestigious, European champion duellist, and Henry a rising power in the Wizengamot. As a result her children were highly desirable bachelors, to such an extent that Dorea_ Black _was permitted_ _to wed Charlus. Henry's widely criticized, pro-muggle stances proved a difficulty, yet he managed to nab Saila Pyrite who hailed from ancient blood._

 _Even though Adelais never did live long enough to reap the fruits of her efforts she managed to sharply influence the direction of her grandchildren's lives as well. On her deathbed the woman begged her son Henry two things. To name his son Fleamont in honor of her noble, but extinct House, as well as to raise his children as she had him. Some odd months later Henry fulfilled the first part by naming his firstborn Fleamont Potter. Then only a few years later something very strange happened indeed. During the month of August his dear wife blessed him with a girl. The first Potter-witch in nearly three centuries._

" _Coquelicot Potter," Smiled Venusia Crickerly, the Minister for Magic, "You look ever so much like your father, my girl."_

" _Thank you Minister Crickerly, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," The ten year old girl smiled with a graceful curtsey. Her innocent face wrinkled with intelligence far too insightful for one so young. "I must say, Minister, that your service as a public servant is most appreciated by House Potter," Those hazel eyes glimmered, "The Goblin and wizarding relationship has never been better." A hand fell proudly on the young witch's shoulder as her father made his presence known._

" _Why don't you go to your mother, Coquelicot?" Henry Potter suggested prompting the girl to bid the Minister farewell before sweeping measuredly towards her mother. Even though she wanted for nothing more than to run from the exhausting task of greeting pretentious guests such a thing was unacceptable. Proper ladies did not race about in front of civilized company, the child could imagine her governess hissing stiffly._

 _The massive courtyard of Potter Villa swirled with guests, all looking up at the stars while gossiping up a storm. Many of these visitors were famous, talented individuals, so it was quite a surprise to her that they seemed so… Ordinary. It was right after that word rolled across her mind that the Potter girl saw her. Cassandra Trelawney had been a surprise guest to the event, for she rarely ever even left her own home. Coquelicot had been ecstatic upon hearing from her mother that the woman had accepted their invitation to the party. Slowly the child picked her way through the crowd towards Trelawney, determined to pick the woman's brain for knowledge about Divination._

 _Finally she stopped before her, and ended up quite disappointed. The greatest seer in modern history was a raging drunk who merely snickered gibberish when the girl gave her politest greeting. To make matters worse as she was leaving the older woman dropped her handbag on the floor before falling on her arse trying to pick it up. Wary of the stray eyes which were observing the scene very carefully the ladylike girl bent to offer a hand. What happened after was rather horrifying. When they made contact Trelawney's face grew terror-stricken as though trapped in a dark trance, her wide eyes peering up at Coquelicot as hundreds of distinct, whispery voices poured from her throat._

" _The Poppy of House Potter blooms with life…" Blood trickled from her nose, "A dark stranger shall turn her greatest achievement to meddlesome strife…" Two pale hands clenched into the ground tightly, "Time will change all. With a simple tumble the Poppy will reshape the Girl-Who-Lived in mind, body, and soul…" Choking noises strangled Trelawney for a long moment before she came back to. The seer seemed to be stuck in a catatonic trance. Coquelicot's young head swirled wildly at what had transpired only several seconds before._

" _Coco," Fleamont, her older brother was pulling at her shoulder gently, "What is wrong?" The world began to swirl as he tried to pull her from Trelawney's side._

A door slammed shut prompting Coquelicot 'Coco' Potter to jerk awake as fast as a whip. Her midnight black bob snapped around while she tried to calm her racing heart. Nearly seventeen years had passed since that wretched woman had scarred the Potter witch for life. Though not a week passed by where Coco failed to remember the grim, nonsensical prophecy which had been all but forced on her. Patting the sheets for a moment she decided that her handsome guest from the night before had been the cause of that banging door. Half tempted to go back to sleep she fought mightily to resist temptation.

Work was more important the tired woman finally decided, slipping out of bed while stretching her arms overhead. After a quick shower the young woman observed herself in the mirror. Most pureblood witches wore dazzling robes with elaborate, pointy hats worth thousands of galleons. They revelled in their many buttons, as well as their embarrassingly, ill-fitted braziers. However, a _very_ select few decided to dress in the very popular flapper fashion of the muggle world. Coco Potter, despite being a formidable socialite, enjoyed spurning longstanding notions regarding the dress code for women. Her midnight-black hair was cut to a short length, she wore leggy dresses, maintained an affectionate penchant for smoking, drank a bit too much Elvish wine, loved fast brooms, and was quite guilty of many carnal sins.

Henry Potter, her politician, stick-up-the-ass father, disapproved mightily of the lifestyle which his daughter lived. Since she had been a child the clever man hoped that she would take over the Potter seat on the Wizengamot in his stead, for her older brother had neither the stomach or cunning for such a thing. Coco proved much too rebellious though preferring to cavort with dashing men and bury herself deep in work. A situation which Henry had no influence over due to her high-paying job in the Department of Mysteries. It went without saying that the pair did not speak often except for the occasional, holiday Howler.

Making sure that her, scandalous, thigh wand holster actually held her wand Coco marched to the fireplace before slipping inside gracefully. "The Ministry of Magic," She spoke in a husky voice before falling through the fireplace and tumbling onto both feet in the Ministry Atrium. Upon glancing at the clock with her hazel eyes the woman realized just how close she was to arriving late for her shift. Coco began to run as fast as possible for her destination with her heels clicking noisily against the hard floor. Several people tried to draw her attention with a greeting though the woman did not have her usual patience when dismissing them.

With only two minutes to spare she stepped out of the lift while a crisp, female voice said, " _Department of Mysteries_." Black tiles covered every inch of visible surface as torches that flickered with blue light attempted to make up for the lack of windows. Striding towards the circular entry room of her department she eyed the 'identical' doors carefully for their hidden deformities. After a very short period of seconds passed by Coco recognized an almost invisible chip on the bottom of one door. Pushing her way through it she was transported into a room that sparkled with luminous, diamond-like light. Clocks lined every corner of the room next to various, magical objects wizards had been studying for centuries.

"So glad you decided to join us, Potter," Called out Craig Boot, Head of the Department of Mysteries. Glancing at her snickering, predominantly male, co workers she sneered.

"I am sure you are Craig," She snapped back saccharinely, "These fellows can only accomplish so much. Nepotism does not, after all, make up for a lack of brains." All mirthful expressions faded into mutinous anger. Never before had Coco been more appreciative of the fact that looks could not kill, so long as Basilisks were not thrown into the mix.

"You just earned yourself the late shift," Boot snapped haughtily, "Put those brains of yours to good work." The woman was then forced to begin her difficult task of writing hours beyond hours of runic incantations. In order to actually create a time turner one needed to work their way through a very challenging process which began with research, planning, and highly advanced arithmantic calculations. Upon finishing all three of those phases it was necessary to write the magical formula that was vital to the creation of a time turner. This painstakingly tedious process was further exacerbated by the five month time period that was usually required.

Coco, despite Boot's reluctance to admit such a thing, was one of the most dynamic minds to have been employed in the department since Levina Monstankely. In only six years of working there the twenty-five year old proved herself capable of creating time turners in only half the normal time period. Most of the piggish men she sat with at that very moment held at least ten years of seniority over her, and only eighteen time turners beneath each of their belts. She was credited with a contribution of almost twenty-seven. Despite the rocky start to her morning the Potter witch managed to pull through with her workload by the time late evening rolled around. Craig left with his standard demeaning comment, as his cohorts followed suit closely behind.

Relieved at finally being left alone to herself Coco began her usual, nightly ritual. When the woman was not out dancing, or stuck at a late shift with Boot she worked on a highly… Unorthodox project. Ever since Eloise Mintumble was assigned to go back six-hundred years, and seemingly damaged time in more ways than one, the unauthorized creation of 'centurial time turners' became highly illicit. Coco did not care in the slightest, however, as her desire for knowledge was far greater than a silly rule. For the past three years she had been putting her vast skill in runic Charms to the absolute test.

Reaching into her very heavily warded purse the flapper pulled out a very expensive pocketwatch. She had nicked it during a trip to the Main Potter Vault with her father during seventh year. It was crafted from Goblin forged gold, embedded with at least seventy-two priceless jewels, and contained a miniature replication of the astronomical clock-face in Prague. If one with a skillful eye were given the opportunity to investigate this pocket watch they would discover something of a somewhat horrifying nature.

Inscribed into the gold on the back of the object in an endlessly whirling pattern were some of the most classified time runes to have been discovered by the Department of Mysteries. The most unstable magics available to humanity had been trapped within a mere vessel. Leaving her treasured object to sit on the table Coco drew a rather large file from her purse soon after. Contained within were all of the arithmantic calculations and runic Charms necessary to her experiment. As she flipped carefully through the many pages the witch recalled all of the spells which were compounded within the fist-sized pocket watch. _Hour-Reversal Charms_ , _Day-Reversal Charms_ , _Decade Reversal Charms_ , along with a Charm that could turn a clock back centuries.

Now she found herself working on something so innovative, daring, and risky that it inspired the faintest flickers of doubt even in her. A runic pattern that allowed one to travel almost a half-hour into the future. If going into the past without permission was illicit, going into the future was unimaginable. The only other time a wizard had ever risked such a thing was during the extraction of Eloise Mintumble from the fourteenth century. Only for her to have aged five-hundred years before dying in Saint Mungo's Hospital. Coco held no intentions of going out in such a manner, however. Her installation of this function was only hypothetical.

When the ticking clock sitting before her proclaimed that it was midnight the young woman decided she could no longer put off her night shift duties. Standing reluctantly Coco put her project back inside of her enchanted purse prior to retrieving her wand from its hiding place. Then she initiated the painstaking process of reinforcing the department's wards while doing her obligatory rounds. The box of time turners was easily spelled to burn the hands of any individual unfortunate enough to try opening or touching it. With the torches to guide her along Coco ambled lazily through her workplace.

There was the top secret Love Chamber, with its twin fountains of Amortentia and Entrancing potions tended to by the greatest potioneers in Britain. She eyed the specimens which lined the walls, all of them from creatures such as Veela which used weak impressions of Love. Then in the very back were the workbenches where her colleagues were attempting to bottle the _Patronus Charm_. Coco quickly marched through the Hall of Prophecies, Space Chamber, the Chamber of Thoughts, as well as the Death Chamber.

With a more brisk spring in her step upon finishing she decided to simply laze about in the Time Chamber until her unbearably long shift ended. Fate had other plans in store for the woman though. As soon as she reentered the Entry Hall with all of the doors something highly unusual stopped Coco dead in her tracks. The Time Chamber door with its barely visible chip in the bottom sat wide open. None of her buffoonish coworkers would have returned so late in the evening. Apparently she was wrong. Craig stood with her purse in one hand and a very familiar pocket watch in the other. Coco knew in that moment that she was either going to be sent to Azkaban, or would end up silencing the repulsive man permanently with her wand.

"Thought you could hide this?" He demanded furiously, causing her to tilt her head in the slightest bit of confusion. After having worked with the repugnant man for almost seven years Coco liked to believe she knew him better than his own whore of a mother. So when his voice merely sounded like a good imitation of Craig's voice she grew very suspicious. Picking up speed with her observations the young woman noted that Craig was holding himself with an unusual amount of confidence when usually his burly shoulders slumped a bit. Then came the final straw, Craig was right-handed, so why was this _imposter_ holding their wand in the left hand?

Shivering, as fear flooded its way down her spine in a constant trickle, she made eye contact with the person holding a magical object that had the potential to destroy the world. Then with the blink of an eye her adversary had his wand jabbing directly towards her as blinding, violet light erupted from the tip. Coco flew into a duck well before the spell made contact. The witch then sent a _Blood-Boiling Curse_ in 'Craig's' direction. That spell was deflected straight back towards her instantaneously, as he followed it up with a rapid fire 'Incarcerous'.

"Protego," She snapped twice creating invisible shields which repelled both attacks completely. When the spells struck against her barriers they transformed into twin explosions of brilliant, white sparks. After that the young witch was forced to move further into the room when the door grew arms which tried to grab ahold of her. A pattern quickly developed after that with the intruder trying to incapacitate her, and Coco using the biggest, loudest spells possible in hopes of drawing attention to her predicament. "Astilla," She eventually cried several minutes into the battle causing the table which had once held her missing purse to explode down to the last splinter of wood. He simply blasted all of the debris in her direction with a _Wind Charm_ prompting Coco to incinerate it all to ashes.

Several more minutes passed the duelling pair by. In Hogwarts Coquelicot Potter had, among many other achievements, been the European junior duelling champion, yet that title proved to be worth nothing. Whoever was impersonating Craig seemed to have four times her experience in real life battle, and it showed. His only wounds were a bloody gash across the shoulder, torn clothing, and somewhat singed hair. Coco was barely capable of standing with her horribly burnt calves, various cuts from falling on broken tile, as well as a bleeding wound across her abdomen inflicted by Dark Magic. Every piece of furniture in the Time Chamber had been blown to thousands of bits and pieces. Only the box of time turners remained intact due to the powerful charms which protected them.

"Expulso," She bellowed causing the ceiling to rattle as the shiny tile rained down from above on her opponent. Then the flapper wasted no time firing a series of stunners, jinxes, and hexes at him without any pause. Her actions came to an abrupt stop when help finally arrived. Four security wizards stumbled into the room with their wands outstretched, clearly surprised to see a department head blocking such vicious blows from an Unspeakable. Exasperated Coco pointed at 'Craig' whilst shouting, "IMPOSTER," At the top her lungs. In response her loathsome bosses' face melted away into pure blackness as her attacker transformed into a three-dimensional shadow.

The security wizards along with Coco started to throw whatever spell popped into their heads at the foul aberration. With the first flash of light, however, its entire essence of being corkscrewed right down to the floor until only a snake was left in its stead. Her comrades ceased all magic in confusion though Coco recognized precisely what had taken place, and continued her assault. Not only could this stranger shift its shape, but to make matters worse it was a Animagus as well. All of her efforts proved to be for naught when the serpent grew rapidly back into a shadow once again. Without pause it used a _Hurling Hex_ to send her flying backwards into the broken wall. What followed after was almost too horrible to put into words, as she witnessed the darkest display of magic imaginable.

The surprised security wizards barely even managed to lift their wands again when a spell of epic proportions was cast in their direction. Yellow light raced from the shadow's wand to hit the floor beneath their feet. A cloud of purple smoke rose from the hissing spot to just above their terrified faces while screams began to fill the ozone-scented air. An explosion rocked the whole room right before approximately twenty quarts of blood splattered all across the room. In the aftermath of such stupendous brutality Coco was incapable of moving. Her hazel eyes moved around in her skull watching as the shadow disarmed and bound her with a single flick of its wand.

She watched as it levitated her fallen pocket watch into the air. Heat was summoned, so powerful that even being a few feet away left her feeling somewhat like a marshmallow. Coco knew as the shadow moved its wand that it was inscribing additional ruins into the time turner. Then finally all movements stopped. The monster taking a moment to summon her purse and wand prior to stepping through the mounds of silvery tile towards her broken body. Tears rolled down her cheeks when it tied the golden chain of the time turner tightly to her wrist. Coco's wand was stuffed carefully into her purse which was slung across her immobilized torso.

Deliberate fingers started to manipulate the pocket watches' astronomical clock while the shadow began to recite in a raspy, indistinguishable voice. " _The Poppy of House Potter blooms with life… A dark stranger shall turn her greatest achievement to meddlesome strife… Time will change all. With a tumble the Poppy will reshape the Girl-Who-Lived in mind, body, and soul…"_ Nearly half of the prophecy clicked into place as Coquelicot Potter felt a mighty tug on her wrist. The spell disappeared as the most ancient sort of magic swallowed her into a hazy abyss.

She didn't scream, but not for a lack of trying. Whatever force was spinning her like a coin through time itself had sucked all the air from her body. After what felt like hours Coco was slammed to the floor of a very familiar room. The Time Chamber. Though the furniture looked vastly different it seemed as though there had never been a battle. Stumbling to both feet the woman shakily retrieved her wand then set about healing all of her wounds. After that task was completed Coco flicked her wand until every last inch of her outfit down to the heels was repaired. With a sense of dread she glanced at a calendar on the wall whilst untying the pocket watch from her wrist. All movements came to a very sudden halt. Whatever runes the shadow had incorporated into her time turner went well beyond a half-hour.

Coquelicot had been trapped in June of 1987.

OOOO

Next Chapter: Far From Gimlet.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Far From Gimlet.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling or her publishing company.

OOOO

 **1987, London**

Coco Potter tried to calm herself despite the overwhelming dose of shock rushing through her body. Perhaps a murderous shadow _had_ sent her into the future while reciting some wacky prophecy from a drunk Seer. On a brighter note she decided it was fortunate that the trip did not age her sixty-one years beyond twenty-six. Despite the cynical and dark thoughts whirling about through her mind Coco held her wand aloft while stepping out of the Time Chamber. Nervousness seemed to ooze out of the flapper's every step no matter how hard she tried to quell it. In order to remove magical barriers one had to compose themselves with nothing but steely resolution.

Though she soon realized that security had not been improved much during her very long absence. Perhaps the shadow had covered up all signs of their battle, for she could not fathom why it was still so easy to slip through the Department. Clutching her handbag tightly to her shoulder the woman made her way to the lift before zooming down to the bottom-most floors of the Ministry. During her tumultuous ride Coco took a little bit of time to cast a _Disillusionment Charm_ upon herself. While that spell would drastically deplete her already drained magical core she decided it was better to not be seen. Eventually her precaution paid off.

Sitting boredly in the middle of the Ministry Atrium was a security wizard. Tiptoeing the best she could in such confoundedly tall heels Coco Potter tried to remain absolutely silent. Such plans went down the drain when she accidentally triggered a _Subtle Alarm Charm_. The witch had no choice but to stun the guard and remove her _Disillusionment Charm_ swiftly after. She was quite prepared to flee the Ministry upon becoming visible to the world once more though a thought stopped her movements. This was certainly not the same Wizarding World it had been in 1926. Her father was undoubtedly dead, a realization that stabbed her in the chest with regret over their dysfunctional relationship.

Biting at her lip the woman pointed her wand at the man with unwavering precision. A moral dilemma now struck Coco with all the force of a charging Erumpent. There was a way to obtain every bit of necessary information, yet it was truly unforgivable. Breathing deeply, while worrying that another guard would stumble upon her, Coquelicot Potter made a split second decision. "Imperio," Warmth instantly rushed across her entire body as the guard's face became rather loopy. She shivered, not liking the pleasant feeling her use of Dark magic left behind. "Did Grindelwald win that blasted war?" Coco asked nervously, a most pressing concern which wiggled the back of her head.

"He was defeated by Albus Dumbledore in a duel fifty years ago," The guard responded, "After his loss he became imprisoned in Nurmengard."

That was at least one thing to be optimistic about; Grindelwald would no longer be able to terrorize millions of innocents. Coco whistled lowly recalling somewhat sadly that her father would have labelled such an action unladylike. Never again would Henry Potter sit her down for another lecture. "Have you heard of Fleamont Potter?" She asked in a more sober, desperate tone.

"No," The man answered causing the Potter woman to look disappointedly towards the ground, "But I have heard of Gossamer Potter." That cloudy, dreamy look covered his face as he fell silent again. Intrigued, Coco motioned sternly for the guard to elaborate. "Six years ago He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named slaughtered James and Lily Potter in Godric's Hollow," His tone was solemn. "Their daughter, a mere baby, survived after so many talented wizards had fallen to the Dark Lord. She is now known as the Girl-Who-Lived, the only witch known to have survived the _Killing Curse_." More questions popped into Coco's head after the man finished speaking.

Her eyes swept nervously across the Ministry Atrium as she realized that time was running out. "You will fall asleep," The flapper snapped hurriedly, "And only wake after I have left." Her captive fell to the floor in an unconscious slump almost before the words had entered into the air. Pointing the wand at the guard one last time she used another spell, "Obliviate." Very aware of the pains rocketing through her sore body Coquelicot dashed as fast as possible towards one of the gilded fireplaces in the atrium's hallway. Only a split moment after she had apparated away did Otis Sampson find himself waking on the floor of the Ministry Atrium with an unprecedentedly large headache.

OOOO

Never in her life could Coco recall ever having felt so alone. There had been the day her mother died of Dragon Pox, the woman who had kept House Potter glued tightly together with her compassionate heart. Yet even then she could always turn to her older brother for comfort. Now there was nothing. No awkward hugs to be had with her father on the holidays, and no more discreet, knowing looks to be shared with Fleamont at drab events. Sighing, Coco stopped in front of her destination. Flourish and Blotts was a new addition to Diagon Alley, something that gave her a momentary relief from the overwhelming flood of regret which came with old memories.

Raising her wand the twenty-six year old caused every last window in the bookstore to shatter into shards. A loud alarm began to cause quite the ruckus directly after prompting Coco to search for what she needed. Useless titles glared down from all of the shelves in her direction, yet none seemed promising. Then, finally, she found it, _Gossamer Potter: The Girl-Who-Lived_. Smiling brightly the flapper dropped the handful of galleons she had retrieved from her purse earlier to the floor. Snatching the book into both hands she apparated away, a triumphant glint in her hazel eyes. With a sickening crack Coco arrived in a shady corner of Knockturn Alley.

Stepping into the seediest sector of Wizarding London Coco noticed something shocking. The place where the most hateful, intolerant minded of people congregated seemed to have changed more than Diagon Alley. Everywhere she looked there were new businesses, and entirely new buildings. Tucking the newly purchased book into her heavily charmed purse Coco scanned the storefronts until finding what seemed like an inn. Admittedly unnerved that it also seemed to operate as a barbershop during the day she knocked on the door nonetheless. Loud noises instantly erupted into existence within the building before her fist had even lowered back down to her side. A few minutes passed until a gruff, angry-looking man opened the chipped door over-aggressively. His leery eyes raked over Coco's out-of-date robes, yet he made no comment choosing to instead stare at her with an expectant look. "I find myself needing a room and board for the time being, sir," She spoke with measured politeness.

"Do you?" The uncouth, bearded, sloth-like wizard asked in a condescendingly rhetorical tone. "Usually I charge three galleons for every four days, but since you chose to come knocking so late in the evening, I will be asking for five on the spot." Deciding he had a fair point Coco fished the required amount from her purse prior to dropping it in his greedy hands. The man disappeared for a moment only to reappear with a worn out key dangling from his hand. "First room, left-side, second floor." Then he closed the door behind her, and slumped away towards his own quarters.

Unfortunately the inside of the building was just as grimy as the outside, yet Coco was far too tired to fret over the quality of her surroundings. A bed was preferable to the dark streets. Moving through the hallways she imagined just what sorts of people occupied the rooms that passed her by. Torrid adulterers, werewolves, hags, vampires, or in other words, the throwaways of 'proper society'. Her wrist struggled to twist the handle of her bedroom open upon realizing that she now fell into that category. A bitter smile twisted across Coco's red lips at the thought of just how far she had fallen in a single day.

No matter how tired she was the witch decided that the state of her room was absolutely unignorable. The mattress seemed to have decomposed into dust due to neglect, every surface was covered in filth, and there were a multitude of suspicious stains across the floor. First casting a variety of protective enchantments across the room for her own protection Coco then set about cleaning her sorry living space. Each piece of the bed, including the drapes, cleaned themselves out at a frenetic pace. The window opened of its own volition so that every bit of filth to be found could simply be tossed onto the nasty streets below.

By the time her series of spells had worked their magic Coco was hardly capable of standing. The woman collapsed onto her freshly cleaned bed.

OOOO

There was a heavy thunk as Coquelicot Potter slammed the book down on the scratched desk which sat inside of her room. The cover, which featured a zig-zagging bolt of lightning, retaliated by zooming so fast that Coco almost threw up. Not so much because of the motion-sickness, but because it reminded her of the mark which had been left on Gossamer Potter's forehead. Rubbing her temples firmly the flapper could hardly comprehend how such terrible luck had befallen House Potter. Standing to both feet she paced the length of her small room for a very long time.

There were no other Potters alive to care for the custody of the Girl-Who-Lived, except for her of course. Though no matter how much Coco wanted to march into the Ministry to contest Albus Dumbledore's mysterious role in the undisclosed placement of her grandniece there were too many risks. Upon learning how Coquelicot had managed to travel from 1926 to 1987 she would presumably be sent to the Department of Mysteries under ministerial order. Or carted off to Azkaban. Even though she had spent years doing the opposite Coco tried to imagine what her father would have done in the same situation. Trapped in the future with little understanding of what changes had occurred, no friends to call upon for help.

Both of the flapper's hazel eyes lit up brilliantly at that realization. She could bypass the repercussions of time travel by forging connections. Snatching her purse from the table Coco marched out into Knockturn Alley. Most of the shoppers in the dingy shopping center paid her no heed. Upon entering Diagon Alley, however, Coco received many unwelcome compliments for her costume. Making an immense effort to avoid eye contact after that the witch finally arrived at her destination, Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Even the Goblin-guards, payed to remained stoic no matter the circumstance, allowed their eyes to roam over her 'strange' attire. Stepping by them with a stormy roll of her hazel eyes Coco entered the establishment. With every click of her heels against the marble floors more people seemed to stare at her.

With a sharp flick of her bob the witch came to a graceful stop before the Head Clerk's desk. An aged Goblin with a rather dour expression across his face stared down at the piles of coins on his desk. Studiously ignoring her presence he continued to passive aggressively count out the currency. Despite her overwhelming desire to curse that Goblin's bad attitude into the muggle world Coco remained patiently collected. She remembered in that moment the first time she had ever visited Gringotts. 'Do not speak', her father had repeated like a mantra beforehand, 'kiss their feet like they are kings', he would sneer, 'but keep a knife hidden where they would never expect it'. Like much of his advice Fleamont ignored it, yet Coco took it deeply to heart.

Her respectful silence lasted for almost three minutes. When the Head Clerk finally deigned to look down upon her it was well worth the wait. "How may the mighty bank of Gringotts be of service to you today?" He asked in a firm tone, much kinder than it would have been if he had been interrupted earlier.

"I would like to speak with the accountant of House Potter," Coco said with a delicate, whispery tone, so that the entire bank would not become privy to her business. The Head Accountant's face turned cherry-red in disbelief, as his mouth opened to spew some sort of nasty rebuttal. The Potter witch was in no mood to be told how insane her claims were, however. In a rapid fire motion she had slapped the key to her trust vault down on the desk in front of him. "My name is Coquelicot Potter," The young woman admitted hastily much to the Goblin's visible disbelief, "I do not have the time to explain the circumstances around my visit to this bank. Yet I was under the impression that I would be treated with the standard level of discretion Gringotts is renowned for…"

She trailed off as the accountant ran a clawed hand through what was left of his shock-white hair. "I will leave momentarily to confer with my colleagues _and_ this key," He stared quite seriously at her, "If we find that it does indeed match the name you offered, I will escort you to the Potter accountant myself. Likewise, if you are proven to be lying I will _personally_ see to it that you are punished to the fullest extent of the law. Does that sound agreeable?" The witch could only nod her head while he snatched the key off of the counter, and fled to another room. Tapping her right foot against the floor Coco glanced over her shoulder at the many pairs of eyes burning with barely concealed curiosity into her back. Of course they all looked away after being caught though it took a not so pretty minute for the discomfort to go away.

"The key was a match," Spoke a disappointed, domineering voice, prompting her to turn around. The Head Accountant stared up at Coco boringly like she were a puzzle he wanted desperately to solve. Taking the key back into her palm she followed obediently behind her Goblin escort when he walked towards a door built off of the entry room. A hallway, twice as big as the entry room she had just exited sprawled out before her.

On either side of the hall stood office doors crafted from the finest of woods, set into the obsidian-black walls. The marble floors had a slight slant, as though the hall extended down into the earth. In fact, almost nothing had changed in the sixty something years since she had last met with her House's accountant. There was even that cold, dangerous taste to the air that seemed reminiscent of ancient things hidden deep underground. Crossing both arms tightly to ward off the chills racketing through her body she marched alongside the clerk somewhat nervously.

Henry Potter would not have tolerated an utter nincompoop for a child. Coco was, hence, nowhere near imbecilic enough to believe that the Goblins would not turn her over to the Ministry at the first opportunity. This was perhaps why the woman's wand was hidden up the sleeve of her dress waiting to be flourished at a moment's notice. Coco refused to be captured, not when there was an orphaned Potter out there in desperate need of guidance. Her thoughts came whirling to a halt when the Head Clerk stopped suddenly in front of a door. She almost stumbled to the floor when her heels protested the jarring pressure they had been placed under.

The door in front of them was more imposing than any of the others were. Not only was it taller, but the large placard identifying its occupant was made of a more impressive metal. _Head Accountant Hagglesnaggle_. The guard rapped on the door politely with the gentlest of nudges with his knuckles. "Enter," A voice called from within, so guttural that Coco almost

went deaf from the harshness of it.

Her escort twisted the handle before motioning for her to enter. Her hazel eyes stared around the room as soon as he closed it behind her. Pale cypress contrasted greatly with the same, black tile that had been in the hallway outside. Sitting straight at a desk across the office was an ancient-looking Goblin who wore a spiffy suit, and sported patches of gray hair. On either side of his desk were two, crimson-clad guards with their blades resting against the floor in preparation for any threats. She stared impassively towards all of the Goblins trying to deduce a backup plan for escape.

Coco stood with a tall back, but felt highly uncomfortable with the accountant's beady eyes practically piercing into her. "When my guards told me that a Miss Coquelicot Potter wished to speak with her House's accountant," He smirked mirthfully, "I almost suffered a heart attack." They stared at one another for a little while before he gestured to the seat across his desk. "Sit," He commanded, "We have much to discuss." When the witch instead stepped closer to the back of the indicated chair, clearly not intending to sit, he raised a silvery eyebrow. "You look no different than when I last saw you," Hagglesnaggle tried to take back control of the situation. "Though I do suppose I have changed quite a bit since 1926, the very same year you went missing in the Department of Mysteries..."

She met his black eyes confidently while a saccharine smile spread across her aristocratic features. "Buildings change, people change, and some things disappear entirely," Coco admitted in a concise, crisp voice, "Yet it is a comfort to see that in some ways London shall never change. There will always be those who hunger for money, and others that lust for power. My father, brother, as well as my nephew are all long gone effectively leaving my grandniece to the devices of such unsavory individuals. That is the topic of conversation we should be pursuing today, Accountant Hagglesnaggle."

"We will discuss whatever I find pertinent, Miss Potter," The Goblin snapped snidely, "Especially after you were believed to have been responsible for the deaths of four Ministry security wizards before disappearing for more than sixty years. Only to pop back into existence looking as though you have not aged a day." He smiled rather cruelly, "Tell me what happened that night, so many years ago. Then if your answer satisfies my curiosity I might find it within my heart to assist you in taking custody of your grandniece."

The flapper was quiet for a very long moment. A quote of her father's rang throughout her dizzy head, 'Keep a knife hidden where they would never expect it.' Hagglesnaggle believed that he had redefined the argument in his favor by dangling the Girl-Who-Lived over Coco's head. She would give him what he wanted in exchange for security. "Promise that you will not turn me over to the Ministry upon witnessing my memories of that evening," Her face was devoid of any emotion, "And that you will explain where that girl is immediately after. Or I will leave, hunt down Gossamer Potter myself, and flee for another country."

They glared at each other for a very long moment until the ancient Goblin acquiesced to Coco's offer. "I agree to those terms, so long as you prove that I would not be abetting a wanted fugitive." Without further ado she withdrew her wand prompting the guards to point their swords her way. "A reasonable precaution," Hagglesnaggle lifted his chin condescendingly, "You may continue." Rolling both, hazel eyes Coco placed the tip of the wand against her temple withdrawing a very long tuft of memory from her skull. Looking expectantly towards her accountant she watched as he collected a pensieve from one of the cabinets which sat behind his desk.

The memory dissolved to swirls as she lowered it into the artifact's clear depths. Then with both fists clenched tightly at her sides she watched as Hagglesnaggle vaulted himself back to a terrifying night in 1926. Finally he returned, lifting his head from the rune engraved bowl, an incredibly serious look etched across his already stern features. "Sit down, Miss Potter," He ordered, "I will not take no for an answer." Then he turned to the guards, "Leave. Make certain that absolutely no one is spying on this office." The pair of guards wasted no time stepping from the room with their blades still outstretched. Coco slipped into the chair watching as Hagglesnaggle scrambled around through his filing cabinets for something.

"Here are all of the documents detailing House Potter's extensive financial history," He explained, while slamming a stack of folders in front of her. Hagglesnaggle swivelled wildly as he clambered back into his expensive chair. Coco did not bother waiting for her family's accountant before she started to open a file on the top of the stack. "Wait," Ordered the Goblin sternly, "There is much to discuss prior to your reviewal of House Potter's wealth. Sixty years of major changes that would most undoubtedly cause your veins to explode open."

Rolling both of her eyes Coco tossed the portfolio down on the table, leaning back in the leather seat as her silky legs crossed elegantly over each other. "I am truly heartened to discover that in the half of a century which has passed," She intoned mockingly, "Goblins are still as melodramatic as ever."

While the snub did not _seem_ to get beneath Hagglesnaggle's skin Coco noticed how his eyes grew even more predatorial. He cleared his throat dismissively, "I am certain that you are aware of Gossamer Potter's status as the Girl-Who-Lived. Correct?" The woman simply nodded. "There was a stir seven years ago regarding the matter of her guardianship, one that I had a regrettably small amount of influence over," Hagglesnaggle sighed wearily. "Albus Dumbledore since you last heard of him has become an incredibly powerful, influential, famous, and wealthy man. He is both the Headmaster of Hogwarts and Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot."

"After the murder of the Potter's he used a tidal wave of favours to transport Gossamer Potter to an almost unknown location." Coquelicot's chest was beginning to rise and fall at a furious pace, and her blood scorched with an almost inconceivable amount of fury. "These contacts made it possible for him to place the Girl-Who-Live with her 'last' living relatives. One Petunia Dursley nee Evans and her husband Vernon Dursley even though Lily Potter wrote explicitly in her will that any other option was preferred."

"So you just sat on your arse?" Coco spat venomously, "While they carted her off to live with these Dursleys? Despite the fact that Lily Potter made it explicitly clear that they were unsuitable…" At that she seemed to realize something, "My grandniece could be seven years dead by now. Sold into child slavery, or-." The thought of such things was much too terrible.

"I fought tooth and nail for that girl," Hagglesnaggle retorted bitingly, "Right up until the moment I was obliviated by one of Dumbledore's allies." Coco's eyes seemed to widen even further at that revelation. "Thankfully," He motioned to where the pensieve was hidden in his office, "They did not do a very thorough job of it. From that moment on I have been attempting to combat the old fart's influence over this bank itself. He has many allies here, many loyal spies who have undoubtedly already informed him of your arrival." Right when the witch opened her mouth to chastise him for not even attempting a rescue he cut her off. "My covert attempt to extract the girl from her home proved fruitless, there is a powerful enchantment known as the Bond of Blood surrounding the home."

Thankfully Coco was already well acquainted with the spell due to a lifelong interest in charms. More pieces of the depressing future she had been trapped in were clicking firmly into place. Gossamer had survived the _Killing Curse_ because Lily Potter had sacrificed herself to the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had left the girl with a highly questionable guardian so that he could cast the Bond of Blood around wherever it was that theses Dursleys lived. Despite the fact that House Potter had many powerful, kind families that would have served as an equally formidable protection. "Only a person that shares blood with Gossamer Potter," Coco thought aloud, "And wishes her absolutely no harm can retrieve her from the Bond of Blood."

Hagglesnaggle continued speaking, "Correct, which is why we must discuss our next course of action, for you are the greatest threat Dumbledore has faced in quite a while." Her accountant stared with an uncharacteristically sympathetic gaze from his spot across the desk. "I understand the circumstances of your arrival must be terrifying. You were forcibly transported sixty-seven years into the future by a lethal foe only to find that you must battle the most powerful wizard of the modern century for custody of the Girl-Who-Lived," His eyes were somewhat pleading. "More rests on your success than you could ever know, it is time to forget all of that. Focus only on listening to what I have to say, Miss Potter."

The flapper nodded, sixty years ago her father had chosen to entrust their fortunes with this particular Goblin. She supposed Hagglesnaggle must have done something to have proven himself worthy of such a responsibility. "My contacts in the Goblin Affairs Department will soon be preparing a case in your defense to the Ministry of Magic," He assured, "Yet we do not have the connections necessary to ensure that a vote will work out in your favor." His claws tapped the surface of his desk rhythmically, "There is, however, someone that may be able to make a difference. One Gunnhilda Gamp, Head of House Gamp, as well as your sister-in-law."

That at least gave Coco some reason to smile despite her devastating headache. Fleamont had married Euphemia Gamp, his Hogwarts sweetheart, after all. Inevitably this revelation caused a brief stab of pain to pierce her chest as she realized that she had missed such a precious moment of her brother's life. Coco's hazel eyes widened as her head unconsciously banished those sad memories of the past away in favor of the present situation. "Gunnhilda Gamp was one of the nastiest people I ever had the misfortune of meeting," She recalled snidely, "Now you are saying that my freedom rests in her hands?"

"Yes," The creature responded boredly, "It does. Unless you could bring to my attention another relative of House Potter who possesses connections on the Wizengamot?" Before a word could even fall out of her mouth he was talking again. "That was rhetorical, all of your family is either dead or imprisoned except for Gossamer Potter, and Gunnhilda Gamp." Hearing the truth spoken like that stung sharper than any _Cutting Charm_ ever could. "One of our legal representatives will be writing a statement for the Daily Prophet, so that the story can be presented to the public in a favorable manner," He listed the steps monotonously. "During that time I will be providing you accommodations in Gringotts, as we have enough influence to bar the Aurors from arresting you before your trial."

"Is there anything I should do in the meantime, other than cowering underneath my skirts?" Coco tugged annoyedly at the itchy collar of her dress.

Hagglesnaggle smiled wolfishly, while motioning to the pile of folders with a grandiose flourish of his arm. "Use this time to educate yourself," Those black eyes glittered cunningly, "You are no longer in 1926."

OOOO

Next Chapter: The Fugitive Dud.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The Fugitive Dud.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling or her publishing company.

OOOO

Coco squinted down at the file spread across the table before her. Two days had passed since she became a guest to Gringotts Bank, and had been left in a room to her own devices. This overwhelming amount of free time gave her very little to do, so the witch decided it prudent to examine the documents Hagglesnaggle had given her. One by one each file managed to impress upon her just how many things could change in only sixty-five years. House Potter might have died out except for two, female descendants, but financially it seemed as strong as ever.

Apparently Fleamont, dear Flea with his potions obsessed mind, managed to invent a product called Sleakeazy. This magical pommade was so profitable that her brother managed to quadruple the balance of the main Potter vault. Where the folder sitting before her would have once read a measly fifty-five million galleons, it was now proudly marked with a two-hundred-twenty and six subsequent zeroes. That did not even include the enviable stocks portfolio that her nephew had composed during his remarkably short time as Head of House Potter.

The document began, of course, with Fleamont's twenty-five percent ownership of the stocks in Sleakeazy. James proved a much more enthusiastic investor than his father however. In two years he had purchased fifteen percent of the shares of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, ten percent of the Comet Trading Company, thirteen percent of the Cleansweep Broom Company, thirty percent of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, eighteen percent of the Daily Prophet's publisher, as well as forty-nine percent of the shares of Playwizard. From this one portfolio Coco could tell that her nephew had been almost as much of a racing broom, alcohol, and sex enthusiast as she was.

House Potter's good fortunes did not stop at this point. They owned four estates of considerable historicity and value. There was Potter Villa, a magical structure built by fourth century Romans. Her many great's-grandfather Linfred of Stinchcombe, the first Potter, purchased this property in the twelfth century so that his family might be able to outshow rival pureblood families. Almost as valuable as the villa itself were consequent farmlands that undoubtedly had been neglected over the seven years without a Head of House. The only other functional property was a five million galleon collection of apartments in Haymarket referred to as Sallet House.

Potter Cottage, a lovely little residence in Godric's Hollow, was the site of Voldemort's attack. As a result it had been blown into disrepair by the backlash of a rebounded _Killing Curse_. In the aftermath of that Halloween seven years before Coco's arrival the Ministry decided to confiscate the property so that it could be turned into a national monument. In conjunction with her feeling that it was a bleak way to immortalize the sacrifices made by Lily and James Potter she did not like that the Ministry thought it reasonable to steal from House Potter. Unable to even deal with that presumable headache Coco moved on to the final landholding: Potter Palace.

One of her more ambitious ancestors wasted almost half of the family wealth on this grand project. From the little her father ever deigned to speak on that embarrassing portion of Potter history Coco surmised it was inspired by two, different pieces of architecture. Schwerin Palace and Mont-Saint Michel both blended together into one unfinished mess. While Coco had always found it to be a perfect example of pureblood hubris her mother never failed to vocalize a desire for the Glamorgan palace to be completed. Even Henry, who never refused his socialite wife a thing, protested such notions. Only a Greengrass or Black would ever dare contemplate tying their finances to the required, Gringotts-standard wards alone.

Running a hand through her black hair Coco stared listlessly at the other pile of documents she still needed to read. House Elves, inventory of the Potter heirlooms, debt, and the wills of James and Lily Potter. Standing to both feet the witch observed her quarters somewhat tiredly. There were no windows, for it was located deep beneath the ground. The young Goblin that guided her to the room, with a black hood over her head, explained that high ranking Goblins only lived in the bank during times of conflict. Located nearby, he claimed somewhat reservedly, were the forgeries where the various Goblin metals were produced. He made certain to warn her with very explicit threats what would happen if she wandered upon any Goblin secrets.

When Coco first arrived to the room it had been almost completely empty aside from the dusty furniture. In only two days she managed to bring out almost half of the belongings stowed away in her heavily enchanted purse. Entire stacks of books regarding Wizengamot policy sat on every available surface. Her clothing was tossed about all over the floor as she ruminated over which outfit would be most suitable to greet Gunnhilda Gamp in. Even the sack of precautionary Galleons Coco was grateful to have always kept on hand sat leant against the wall after her explosive examination of the purse.

So, when a Goblin arrived to escort her to Hagglesnaggle's office with directions to collect her belongings, Coco found herself in a mad dash. Thirty minutes later she found herself standing in that same hallway of offices. Smoothing a hand over her designer Vionnet dress to remove any invisible wrinkles the witch marched into the office. Hagglesnaggle sat there in his usual, pompous sort of way, smiling as though in gleeful anticipation for every bit of drama that was about to unfold. Sitting across the desk from him was an older woman, and while Coco did not recognize her she knew who it was. "Coquelicot Potter," Gunnhilda Gamp drawled in a haughty manner, "Still a disgrace to your father's name I see."

The seventy-eight year old witch might have looked weaker, Coco quickly realized, yet she still maintained that knife-like tongue. "Slytherins truly do not age well, Hilda," The older woman sneered at that nickname, "At least from what I can see..." She slunk forwards boldly to slip into the high backed chair next to her detestable sister-in-law. Crossing both legs as slowly as possible to show off her lack of arthritis to Gunnhilda, all while allowing her purse to slide to the floor. "Now, Accountant Hagglesnaggle," Coco smiled, revealing no apprehension, "My escort mentioned that you managed to schedule a Wizengamot hearing in less than forty-eight hours."

"Yes, Miss Potter," He smiled with folded fingers, "Though I am unable to take most of the credit. The Goblin Liaisons Office proved quite adept at convincing Bartemius Crouch to summon the other members." His eyes flitted towards Gunnhilda momentarily, "Now we must see if Madame Gamp is interested in joining our alliance."

"Your admittedly ramshackle alliance," Criticized Gunnhilda, "That is expected to somehow withstand a power struggle for the most valuable political pawn in the past three centuries?"

"Gossamer Potter is no pawn," Coco interrupted coldly, "She is our niece. The blood of our blood, and the heiress to a legacy that could rival that of all other Houses." At this point she turned to glare at the older woman right in her unflinching, blue eyes. "I read the updated edition of the _Sacred Twenty-Eight_ yesterday, you have no heirs," The flapper did not blink, "Do you truly want to leave the House of your ancestors to some Bulgarian cousin thrice removed? Or would you rather help me take our niece back from Dumbledore so that we can raise her into a witch that will respect the legacy of House Gamp?" Gunnhilda did not respond prompting Coco's fingers to curl into the leather armrests. "Unless you have gone absolutely bonkers over the past sixty years I suppose I know what your answer will be."

The woman turned to face Hagglesnaggle. "I will agree, though there are conditions," She smiled frostily, "The Girl-Who-Lived must legally adopt the name Gossamer Dittany Potter-Gamp. Additionally, I wish to have some say in what is left of her upbringing rather than throw her away to this trollop." Coco scoffed as the old hag tilted her head loosely to the right. "That child may be a half-blood, but I demand that she be trained in a manner befitting of her nobler ancestry." Then Gunnhilda looked at Coco, "You, dear Coquelicot, shall rebuild the influence of House Potter in the Wizengamot. I will not tolerate anymore of your deranged, sociopathic wanderings through muggle London with both legs spread wide apart!"

Coco wondered if she could truly do that just for the old bat's political support. Turn herself into a female clone of Henry Potter. Then she remembered that Gossamer was shivering out there in the world trapped in some presumably horrible fate. The flapper supposed she could always be one of the oddball Wizengamot councilors who showed up to meetings in chartreuse, or better yet, completely naked. "I swear that if House Gamp allies with House Potter's interests," She intoned with bored formality, "I will do my best to restore the influence of House Potter." They both looked away from each other with visible distaste. In this awkward silence Hagglesnaggle managed to wrestle back control of the situation.

"I suppose we must be getting off to our hearing, my ladies?" He asked far too chipperly for Coco's liking.

OOOO

Sometimes it was extraordinarily unbelievable how the world worked in such a circular manner. Just three days ago Coco had arrived in the Ministry of Magic without anywhere to truly go. Now she found herself walking between Gunnhilda Gamp, and a top ranking Goblin of Gringotts. Perhaps the circumstances were quite different, yet Coco felt as though she would never escape the clutches of the corrupt, British governmental institution. She did not understand why so many eyes were locking on her form until the Daily Prophet stand came into sight. In black and white, on the main headline, was a picture taken after she won the European Junior Duelling Championship of 1917. Her hair was longer, and the British duelling team uniform was tattered in a manner that was much too revealing for _proper_ young ladies.

Coco remembered her father's face after she defeated a powerful young wizard from Koldovstoretz. That was the last time he ever seemed to express the least bit of pride for any Potter other than Fleamont. Wrenching her gaze away from the onslaught of flashbacks the witch strode with a jazzy swagger alongside her companions. People congregated left and right to examine the woman who had broken every Time law in existence. Coco simply tuned them all out trying desperately to think of something the slightest bit reassuring. Her mind went back to playing Quidditch during fifth year, before a vengeful Slytherin beater had nearly bashed her knee in with a club. Flying through the sky like a bird.

Even the violent elevator ride up to her former office space did not snap her out of the dreamlike trance. The trauma of being sent sixty-seven years into the future seemed to have been weighing heavily on her, for she barely even noticed when they confiscated her wand. Only when she was safely secured in the stands of Courtroom Ten beneath the observant gazes of four Aurors did her eyes focus one more on the surrounding environment. At the front of the chamber all fifty-four of the Wizengamot members milled about preparing to take their seats. Most stared at Coco with agape mouths almost causing her to go back into that lovely little trance. Though the young woman held herself together determinedly.

Henry Potter was dead, no matter how much difficulty she endured trying to acknowledge such a fact. Accordingly it was now her responsibility to represent the bloodline. She never wanted to become a politician, yet it seemed that external circumstances had managed to force her hand. Like her father before her, and Adelais before him, Coco fully intended to remind them all what the name Potter truly meant. Sitting even straighter, if such a thing were even possible, she observed the room scrutinizingly.

There were the senior members clad head to toe in black robes with silvery W's embroidered across their backs. Then came the red-robes, a steady revolving door of newcomers who wished to be given the black status. Unfortunately that was an honor intended only for the wealthier, more influential purebloods and their children's, children's, grandchildren. Whenever a House with the black status faded from existence their seats on the Wizengamot went up for grabs. Assassinations were quite common, for such vacancies left massive power vacuums in the Wizengamot.

Gunnhilda stood near the entrance speaking in hushed whispers with an imperious-looking man. He wore a pair of finely pressed, midnight black robes which fell over his shriveled body like a waterfall. The quietly conversing pair both stared up in her direction quite abruptly prompting Coco to look towards a man she recognized as Tiberius Ogden. "Accountant Hagglesnaggle," She whispered politely, "What individual owns the most shares in councilman Ogden's company?" The Goblin sitting next to her smiled upwards as though he could read minds. Coco shivered slightly, for all she knew Goblin's probably _could_ perform Legilimency.

"Why," He pondered momentarily, "I suppose it is Somia Shafiq. There is still a raging blood feud between the families. However, since duelling is no longer an acceptable resolution to such quarrels the Shafiq's have been trying to gobble up as many of the shares in Ogden's Firewhiskey as is possible." Their whispers seemed to have been drawing looks, yet Coco hardly cared. "Do you plan on sending me to threaten Mr. Ogden with your fifteen shares in his product, Miss. Potter?"

"No," Smiled the witch cunningly, "I plan on turning them both to my side." She hastily shared her idea with the Goblin who seemed to find it quite superb indeed. Soon enough he stood on the marble floor engaged in a muted, but admittedly rather mutinous exchange with Mr. Ogden. Coco smiled brilliantly when the man marched furiously up to the Wizengamot stands allowing Hagglesnaggle to dash out into the hallway back towards the Department of Mysteries. Presumably to intercept Somia Shafiq so that Ogden would not suspect the true nature of their conversation. Feeling somewhat satisfied at the way in which that was working out Coco's hazel eyes noticed something odd.

Everyone Gunnhilda met with seemed to immediately turn to whisper in the ears of their colleagues directly after. Soon enough almost half of the Wizengamot must have heard what the woman was saying be it directly or indirectly. A man with a long white beard strode into the room catching the young woman's attention. Her former Transfiguration professor seemed to part the wizards remaining on the floor like they were a sea. In that moment Coco began to gain an appreciation for the sheer strength Dumbledore must have commanded to elicit such a reaction. Those twinkling blue eyes caught her own, hazel pair though there was no warmth in his gaze. He was here to annihilate the reputation of every last individual that had ever dared to consider rising against him.

In the distraction caused by his arrival no one noticed Hagglesnaggle or Somia Shafiq arrive in short succession of one another. By the time her accountant was back in his proper place every member of the Wizengamot simultaneously took their seats behind Dumbledore. "You have two guaranteed votes, in addition to whatever Gunnhilda manages to scrounge up," The Goblin mumbled near-inaudibly.

Coco jerked her head sharply trying to keep a burgeoning smile from flitting across her lips. They watched the scribe ready her Self-Dictating quills while Dumbledore positioned himself in the seat of the Chief Warlock. "The Wizengamot is called to order for the case against one Coquelicot Potter," The Hogwarts Headmaster intoned gravely, "We call her to the stand at this moment."

Standing to both feet Coco listened to the sharp clicks of her heels snapping down the wooden steps. Hagglesnaggle followed closely behind though she could not focus on his presence whilst beneath the wandpoint of four Aurors. Eventually the witch found herself sitting inside of that massive, wooden chair situated directly beneath the Wizengamot. She refrained from flinching when the enchanted chains on either side bound her tightly in place. A small bit of relief flooded through the woman's body when the Aurors saw fit to finally lower their wands. "Coquelicot Adelais Potter has submitted herself to questioning," Hagglesnaggle declared in a lawyerly manner, "Accordingly she requests to be given a fair legal proceeding befitting any British citizen of magical ancestry."

Albus Dumbledore peered through his spectacles at the Goblin, "Unfortunately, Miss. Potter is no longer on the registry of citizenship. Her removal in June of 1927 for suspected involvement in the massacre of four Ministry officials strips her of any legal rights. I beseech the Wizengamot to remember why this woman appears before us today. She is accused of inflicting the blackest magics upon four, innocent men, as well as shattering nearly every time law." All of the wizards behind him hummed in something which seemed far too similar to agreement for Coco's liking. Her accountant, or lawyer, started to speak up, but the flapper cut him off easily.

"Those are unproven claims, not hard facts, _Professor_ Dumbledore," She demoted his position on the Wizengamot sharply, "Are the wizards and witches behind you not capable of thinking for themselves?" No one moved to answer the rhetorical question, though Dumbledore's eyes burned into her with all the intensity of the sun. "No, of course they can," Coco snipped, "These upstanding pillars of the wizarding community are more than capable of judging my story without your input. Unless they have been summoned from their busy schedules simply to vote in whatever way you see fit…" Her scathing retort prompted the non-Dumbledore aligned segment of wizards to break out in snickers.

"Unfortunately, Albus," A man she did not recognize said from his spot in the assembly of black robes, "I must ask that you grant Miss. Potter a proper, legal trial. We have no idea what truly occurred sixty-seven years ago. Besides, the circumstances are so unusual that I imagine some perspective would answer many important, security-related questions." Dumbledore did not deign to sneer at the man, calling for the necessary vote with a threatening tone to his voice. "Forty-one to thirteen," Crouch called down to the Court Scribe with a victorious expression across his face. He, along with his colleagues, then turned to stare Dumbledore down expectantly.

The Chief Warlock pounded the gavel down with a frown, "Coquelicot Potter shall be granted a trial befitting a citizen of magical Britain." Coco fought desperately to hide her smile behind a cold mask of haughty indifference. He peered down at her shrewdly, "You are accused, Miss. Potter, of casting the Flesh-Eating Curse upon four wizards, and as being responsible for their resulting deaths. How do you plead to these heinous charges?"

"Not guilty," Coco eyed all of the Wizengamot members sternly, as though it would help to impress upon them her innocence.

"Then whom do you presume we should hold accountable for these crimes?" Dumbledore retaliated almost instantly after she finished speaking. The flapper's lips thinned slightly in response. She wondered how the man that taught her to Transfigure a match to a needle turned into such a power hungry, manipulative bastard. In that moment Coco realized that this behavior was not a spontaneous development. During her years at Hogwarts he treated her like a prized possession, drowning her in an ocean of praise and House Points. Now that they were on opposing sides she supposed that Dumbledore did not care what light he was seen in.

"I have collected Miss. Potter's memories from that evening," Hagglesnaggle jumped to her defense, "May my pensieve be brought forth as evidence?" The figurehead of the Wizengamot waved his hand in a lazy affirmation. She watched as her accountant produced the magical artifact and an Auror summoned down from the stands by Crouch placed an _Amplification Charm_ upon it. Coco watched only long enough to see her memory project upwards towards the cavernous ceiling like a moving picture screen. The young woman knew that her wits were vital to walking away from this trial free of chains, so flashbacks to that awful night would be best avoided. Still, the noises from her battle with the shadow shook Coco to the very core.

Eventually the pensieve jerked to a halt sucking the memory back into its swirling depths leaving only the noises of the Court Scribe's scratching quill behind. All of the Wizengamot stared down at her with wide eyes and dangling jaws before turning to whisper in each other's ears. "Memories can be tampered with," Dumbledore announced righteously, "I encourage the Wizengamot to wait for more evidence prior to forming a presumptions of innocence." He turned back around to stare impassively down at Coco once more, "Do you have any evidence worthy of our attention?"

Before she could answer Crouch spoke again from his spot in the assembly. "There is a simple way to determine the validity of this memory," He suggested, "Miss. Potter simply needs to forego her right to testify without being subjected to coercive potions." Everyone in the room understood instantly what Crouch was suggesting by 'coercive potions'. Veritaserum never lied though its use was prohibited in legal situations unless consented to by the defendant. Most wizards preferred a sentence in Azkaban to ingesting the _Truth Serum_. The Wizengamot was composed of the most politically savvy individuals in all of Britain. Hence, it was not unwarranted to fear that the questioners would use the Veritaserum as an opportunity to muddy the defendant's reputation.

Fortunately House Potter had not been involved in the political landscape for quite a while which meant such attacks were unlikely. "I waive my rights to protest the use of coercive potions in my trial," Coco spoke swiftly leaving none of Dumbledore's supporters an opportunity to protest the move. The headmaster of Hogwarts remained silent, simply nodding towards the Aurors to produce the necessary supplies. He would look like a fool for protesting the Potter witch's decision to forego her rights after having demanded the very same thing at the start of the trial. Soon enough Coco's head was tipped back as they poured the clear liquid into her throat. She found herself commanded shortly thereafter to regurgitate a detailed synopsis of the memory back to Crouch like a parrot.

Effectively forced into a corner Dumbledore called for a vote prompting Coco to hold back her breakfast. The natural divide within the Wizengamot was quite easily seen. There were those allied with Gunnhilda, around twenty-four. Then Dumbledore looked to his supporters who seemed to be only slightly ahead of Gunnhilda's coalition at twenty-six strong. "May those who find Coquelicot Potter guilty of all accused crimes raise their hands," He called expectantly. All of his followers raised their arms into the air proudly, glaring down at Tiberius Ogden for not following suit. "All in favor of her innocence," He ground out with visible distaste. The Court Scribe barely even managed to count the number of hands before Dumbledore slammed his gavel down with an enraged might. "Let the records show that by a vote of twenty-nine to twenty-five Coquelicot Potter has been proven innocent of all charges. I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore do proclaim it so."

A smile stronger than any Coco had shown since arriving in 1987 broke across her face in that moment. For a long moment she sat there basking in the thrill of no longer being a fugitive. Then the tight chains fell limply back to the floor allowing the young woman to rocket triumphantly back onto both of her feet. She shoved her way through the crowd of Wizengamot members bumbling away slowly to the doors of the courtroom. "Accountant Hagglesnaggle," Coco announced breathlessly upon finally shouldering her way to where he stood speaking with the Court Scribe. "Give me the address, I know you have it," She accused, though not in an unkind way, "Tell me where I must go." The Goblin did not hesitate, pulling a piece of parchment out of his pocket as though he had anticipated this very turn of events.

With a spin of her heels she was yet again battling her way through the crowd. Upon arriving at the doors Coquelicot encountered a rather odd sight. Gunnhilda Gamp arguing with an Auror the size of a Sasquatch. "You will relinquish that wand this instant," The old woman commanded, "Coquelicot Potter is entitled to her property once more. Did you not hear the Chief Warlock deliver the verdict, or are you simply as deaf as you are mute?" Moving to stand next to her sister-in-law, Coco waited carefully for the man's response, ignoring the interested eyes watching the scene.

"Ah, Madame Gamp," The unmistakeable voice of Barty Crouch interrupted what could have been a nasty spat with the Auror, "Miss. Potter. Just the witches I was hoping to speak with!" They both turned around to face the Wizengamot member. He stood there in his black robes with a smile plastered across his face, and an indecipherable expression in his eyes. "I am afraid that Minister Bagnold requested that your wand be held until an agreement on a," He glanced around before whispering, " _Sensitive_ topic could be reached…" Coco, in that moment, glanced around the chamber realizing that Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Her momentary feeling of ataraxia was swiftly being replaced by adrenaline.

"I do not have the time or the patience for this, Crouch," She snapped over the presumably diplomatic response that had been coming out of Gunnhilda's mouth. His lips tightened though that fake smile did not disappear in the slightest. "If there is something you want, or need from me just say it." Crouch flicked his wrist at the Auror, motioning for him to move forwards so that he stood facing the gap between them. In her peripheries she noticed the Aurors escorting the last of the Wizengamot members from the room, casting _Silencing Charms_ on the way out.

"I will have you know that the policy in the Department of Mysteries has changed little since you last worked there," Crouch spoke absentmindedly while rolling up his sleeves. "The higher ranking members of the Ministry still maintain that those who leave must either be eliminated, or obliviated," He smiled, "Luckily for you Minister Bagnold has made a very generous offer. Pledge in an Unbreakable Vow that you will meet with her at noon in the Ministerial offices four days from this date, and I shall allow you to leave." Rolling both eyes Coco reached out, snatching the man's forearm into a tight grip. The Auror allowed the tip of his wand to rove between both of their forearms, producing a golden light that bound as tightly as twine. "Will you, Coquelicot Potter, arrive at the ministerial offices four days from this date at noon for a meeting with Millicent Bagnold?"

"I will," Coco reaffirmed noticing how the Auror ceased his ministrations. The golden light did not dissipate to the floor, instead sinking through her clothing and down into her flesh. "Now," The young woman turned her head to the Auror, "Give me my damn wand already you boneheaded arse!" With a glower the lumbering fool shoved the stick in front of her face aggressively. Smiling brightly at being reunited with her wand Coco marched from the courtroom without a single glance over her shoulder. Only upon stepping into the elevator did she notice that Gunnhilda was following close behind.

"What?" The old witch asked in an absolutely scandalized tone, "You expected me to let you retrieve our grandniece on your own?" They traveled the rest of the way in total silence.

OOOO

Next Chapter: Rescued By Two Cake-Eaters.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Rescued By Two Cake-Eaters.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company.

OOOO

Gossamer Potter swept gracefully along the sidewalk beneath the glimmering, late afternoon sun. The pavement boiled underneath her worn, hand-me-down shoes, and a slight sunburn was developing across Gossamer's exposed shoulders, yet her trip to the Little Whinging Swimming Center had been well worth it. Rarely did she ever get an opportunity to escape from Privet Drive. So when the eight year old's family left her locked outside of their house for the day she chose to practice her breaststroke. In two years Gossamer would be eligible to try out for her school's swim team, and she had every intention of making it on. Orphans with relatives like her's learned early on that university scholarships were the only way to freedom.

Unfortunately there were many things that Gossamer had learned during her short, seven year stay at the Number Four Privet Drive. Little girls with emerald eyes, and lightning-bolt scars on their foreheads were aberrations, or freakish as the more unimaginative might claim. Petunia Dursley, her horsey aunt, fell into the letter category often berating Gossamer for being a freak. Rolling her almost unnaturally green eyes at the thought of Petunia she came to a slight stop as a bright smile spread across her lips. The kind that poems were written about, and radiated a degree of compassion only surpassed by the likes of Mother Teresa. The cause of this dimpled facial expression turned out to be a simple observation.

Vernon Dursley's showy, new car was nowhere to be seen in the driveway which meant Gossamer would be free from her beastly relatives at least a little while longer. Practically skipping after her realization she set foot on the perfectly trimmed lawn of the Dursley residence. Soon enough the girl's backpack was dropped on the front steps in favor of a quick scrutinization of her flowerbeds. Rose bushes of every variation, magnolias, English marigolds, peonies, carnations, and even larkspur sprouted up from the soil. No matter what slanderous lies the Dursleys spread about her everyone in Little Whinging seemed to at least recognize Gossamer had quite the green thumb. During the single year in which Petunia had delegated all gardening responsibilities to her niece, the formerly unremarkable beds of soil had blossomed into a rather enviable garden.

Standing up after plucking a few weeds the eight year old brushed absentmindedly at her dirt-stained knees. She smiled in a bittersweet sort of way at the bunch of lilies hidden deep within the other flowers. Petunia did not like them, but Gossamer found the white plants a fitting way to remember the memory of her mother. Tears filled her devastatingly green eyes as she crossed both arms tightly around her torso. The child often worried that she would forever be an orphan, broken into pieces by the Dursleys. With a firm flick of her wrist Gossamer wiped the tears away knowing well enough that the salty drops would do nothing to ease her state of hopelessness. Only hard work could do such a thing.

"Gossamer Potter?" A voice from behind her asked, husky, sultry, and audibly relieved for some unknown reason. Spinning around Gossamer found herself staring up at a gorgeous, yet old fashioned-looking woman. Her hair was cut into a snappy, straight bob of midnight-black, and she was quite tall even without the incredibly high heels strapped around her ankles. Immediately behind her stood an older woman wearing what looked like a medieval set of robes which flapped slightly in the summer breeze.

Hoping her jaw had not dropped Gossamer tried to smile politely, "Good afternoon. The Dursleys will be back any moment now if you were hoping to speak with them."

At that the older woman snorted, interjecting into the conversation, "We are not here to speak to your muggle relatives. We have travelled to this _dreary_ place to meet with _you_." Gossamer's face must have turned red at trying to figure out what the word 'muggle' meant, for the young woman smiled somewhat sympathetically at her.

"This is Gunnhilda Gamp," She took control of the conversation back from her older companion with a sharp glare. "My name is Coquelicot Potter," The flapper smiled nervously, hazel eyes crinkling around the corners, "We are your aunts, Gossamer, and there are matters of great importance which we must discuss." After Coquelicot 'Potter's' revelation all three of them seemed to fall into a state of silence.

Gossamer merely blinked several times in disbelief before snapping out, "That is utter horse crap! Do you think this is funny? Running around dressed like morons, and trying to abduct orphaned children?"

She half-expected Coquelicot to respond, but it was the Gunnhilda woman who made the first move. The old woman's silvery hair swirled about as she marched up to the front door of the Dursley's home. Soon enough the lunatic was pointing a carved stick at the lock, yet something incredibly strange occurred in that moment. When the old woman twisted the handle with her other hand it gave a soft click before allowing her to move inside of the house. "Get the girl to come inside," That confrontational, crabby voice bellowed from inside the Dursley residence, "We only have so long before Dumbledore arrives with his gang of followers."

Gossamer eyed Coquelicot suspiciously, edging back so far that her left foot crushed a gardenia. "I am not going to force you to follow me inside," The flapper smiled wickedly, "So it is entirely your decision if you want to see any magic." With a mischievous wink Coquelicot marched into the house, short hair flicking around sharply with all of her steps. The girl wondered for a very long moment why she wanted so desperately to follow after the two women. There was no such thing as magic, everyone with a functioning head on their shoulders knew that. Yet something told Gossamer to abandon everything the Dursleys had drilled into her head, something almost primal that could not be put into words.

Slipping in after Coquelicot, Gossamer paused momentarily to snatch up her raggedy backpack. What she walked in on almost caused her heart to stop beating. Gunnhilda stood in the hallway muttering rapidly in what sounded like Latin, her wooden stick spewing out jettisons of colorful mist. The child stared for a very long moment as her entire world came crashing down around her. Was there really such a thing as magic? Rationality tried to wrestle back control of her brain, but every explanation it offered seemed less worthy of contemplation than the last. Gunnhilda's stick was certainly not incense, for how could burning a simple twig produce such chemical reactions? Nor could she believe that the Dursley's were playing an elaborate trick on her since they did not enjoy being anything but normal, and this sort of thing would cause quite a stir in the neighborhood social circles.

Upon deciding that magic could quite possibly be a real entity Gossamer was forced to admit that the two strangers could very well indeed be her aunts. "Where is your bedroom, dear?" Coquelicot interrupted her stunned thought process with a very red face, clearly having just scoured the entire house. Barely able to formulate any words in her dazed state Gossamer waved mindlessly in the direction of the cupboard under the stairs. The flapper seemed uncertain, and even Gunnhilda momentarily paused her long spewing of incantations at hearing that. Without warning the woman flicked her wand from where she stood in the living room causing the door of the cupboard to swing open.

"THOSE MUGGLES!" Coquelicot screamed suddenly, "HAVE NOT BEEN KEEPING YOU IN A FUCKING CUPBOARD!" Still very uncertain of what was going on the eight year old forced herself to keep from considering what a muggle was for the thousandth time. Looking up from the cupboard door, which had splintered slightly from being opened so forcefully, Gossamer locked eyes with Coquelicot once more. "Gunnhilda, continue reverting the wards, we only have so much time," The young woman breathed out harshly, "Gossamer. Pack whatever belongings you care for. We will be taking you from this abusive cesspit!"

Frozen momentarily, Gossamer only jumped into action when Coquelicot extracted her own wand. She had a decision to make under very difficult time constraints. The Dursleys would most certainly blame her for allowing the two women into their home, as well as reward her with at least a month in the cupboard. Or she could flee from Number Four Privet Drive with two, strange women who claimed to be her aunts, and were capable of performing _magic_. Fortunately the decision was an easy one to make. Rushing forwards, backpack in hand, Gossamer began picking out things that she would need to bring along. Most of her clothing was soon packed into the bottom of the bag beneath a few of her only sentimental belongings.

Then she dashed up the stairs, passing Coquelicot at a rapid speed, only slowing down upon arriving at Petunia and Vernon's bedroom. Pushing the door open Gossamer marched across the room to where her aunt's jewelry box sat. With all of her grandmother Evan's jewelry in hand she raced back down the stairwell to find that the two women were now standing side-by-side in the living room. Their wands flicked around for a little while longer until finally they both came to a jarring halt. The two were audibly quite breathless after the lengthy ritual, and they seemed to be waiting for something anticipatorily. Gossamer's green eyes widened as the floor beneath her feet started to shake.

Number Four Privet Drive began to rattle around at a furious pace. The telly that Vernon and Dudley loved so very much fell to the floor where it shattered into dust. Down the hall in the kitchen all of Petunia's fine china, pots, pans, and kitchen appliances crashed about at an ear-splitting crescendo. Pictures fell to the floor, the walls cracked from the baseboards to the ceiling, and Gossamer even found herself wrenched to the floor. Strangely enough a crimson barrier threaded into existence outside of the home stopping just before reaching the street. Peering curiously through the open door Gossamer gasped as sparks of royal purple and luminous silver shot appeared from thin air, firing through the red barrier like bullets.

The world erupted into color as the red barrier collapsed inwards causing every window in the Dursley residence to shatter. "That was the Blood Ward," Coquelicot said to Gunnhilda, "We can officially claim custody of her now." The pair made their way towards where she lay dazedly in the hallway. Cautiously Gossamer peered up at the two women, eyeing the wands they held surreptitiously. "Come along now Gossamer," Coquelicot smiled beautifully, outstretching an arm to the child, "We are taking you home." Though she knew it might be incredibly moronic to trust the two sorceresses standing above her Gossamer stood to both feet.

A mere second later she was whisked away from Little Whinging to somewhere called home.

OOOO

Located deep in the heart of Westminster was the incredibly well-hidden, ancestral home of House Gamp. Clutching her stomach in pain after what had been her first apparition, but she did not know that, Gossamer stood between her two 'aunts'. Cars blew passed them at roaring speeds though Gunnhilda and Coquelicot did not seem to care much about their close proximity to the edge of the sidewalk. Much to Gossamer's bewilderment they were both peering silently into a _very_ dark alley, so shadowy that the blinding sunlight could not pass through by more than a few inches. "Gossamer will be able to get in easily," Gunnhilda spoke up suddenly, "She has just enough Gamp blood in her veins. _You_ on the other hand will need my permission." The last bit was snapped harshly at Coquelicot.

"Then give it already," The flapper retorted icily, her hand squeezing Gossamer's shoulder reassuringly. A wicked smile spread across her aristocratic features, "I have no intention of allowing you to spirit away our niece for your unspoken machinations." Gunnhilda nodded with those shrewd, blue eyes, and grabbed Coquelicot's hand into her own wordlessly. Pressed tightly together the three of them stepped into the alley until they were engulfed entirely by the shadows. When Gossamer blinked again they were standing somewhere entirely different. Unsettled she pulled away from the two women, crossing both arms as her green eyes roved over what must have been Gamp Townhouse.

The bickering pair of women continued to march towards the grand estate until they seemingly noticed that Gossamer was no longer following. "I am not moving until I get some bloody answers," Her unflinching, green gaze could have killed, "Where are we, who are you people, and how does _magic_ exist?"

Once more Coquelicot opened her mouth to give Gossamer gentle reassurances, but this time Gunnhilda cut the young woman off. "There is a secret society hidden within every corner of the globe," She paused, "A community that has remained separate from the non-magical world for nearly three-hundred years." The old witch stepped closer, "Your parents were both wizards, and magic runs just as strongly through your veins as it did theirs."

"If I belong in this world," Snapped the child fiercely, "If my parents were a part of this world, why was I ever left with the Dursleys? Why didn't either of you ever come to save me?"

At this point Gunnhilda seemed to lose her previously unconquerable air of haughty self-assurance. "Just like in the muggle world there is corruption, Gossamer," Coquelicot spoke up from behind her sister-in-law, "And plenty of people were interested in hiding you from us. Manipulating you into nothing more than a mere, political pawn." The girl opened her mouth to demand yet another explanation until Coco spoke again. "The entire story is much too long for the present moment. If you come inside, however, we can all sit down to a nice dinner in which everything will be explained. Would you like that?" Feeling a little more comfortable with the situation, though not entirely at ease, Gossamer contemplated the offer. She could always try to run through the stone wall which covered what had once been an alley. Or, that unexplainable feeling rose in her head again, she could trust these two strangers.

A swift nod seemed to satisfy them both.

OOOO

Her gut instinct was proven correct by the time a House Elf brought the steaming, baked Shrake to the table. Dumbledore. Voldemort. Wizengamot. Time travel. So many different thoughts were whirling about Gossamer's head at those revelations. Her parents were murdered by a psychopathic Dark Lord who went on to turn her into the Girl-Who-Lived. The wizarding world, which even had its own Ministry, practically ran on wealth and influence allowing Albus Dumbledore to trap her with an abusive family. At least, until Gossamer's time travelling, flapper, great-aunt took custody of her forcibly. Now the child was expected to become some famous, wealthy, socialite heiress in a world she hadn't even known existed that morning.

"Your lessons must begin by next week, _at the latest_ ," Gunnhilda announced, sneering at how Gossamer held the dining utensils, "I bet all my galleons that that Parkinson girl can already host a ball!" A derisive snort came from Coco's, as she all but ordered Gossamer to call her two hours earlier, side of the table. The older witch cut her own rant about the Parkinson's short in order to glare at the Potter woman. "Is there something you would like to say, Coquelicot?" Gunnhilda sneered.

The aforementioned witch took a smug sip from her glass of Elvish wine before responding. "If that Parkinson girl's grandfather is anything to go off of, I wouldn't be surprised if she already knew how to do _much_ more than host a ball." With a flick of her short hair Coco flashed Gossamer a conspiratorial grin, "Perhaps the Gamps hold themselves to the same standards as the _Parkinsons_ , but you are a Potter. We do not stoop to accommodate what is considered socially chic, our House only rises." Setting the glass down on the highly-polished table, Coco took a dainty bite of her steaming Shrake as though the world were perfect.

"Pretty words," Gossamer's other great-aunt snatched back control of the conversation, "You always could make the most asinine comments as shiny as diamonds, Coquelicot." Those cornflower-blue eyes spun towards Gossamer whose plate was already cleared. Even though the food was quite strange she had been forced to consume far worse on hungrier occasions. "I remember hearing tales of your great-great grandmother, _the_ Adelais Fleamont," Gunnhilda's voice grew wispy with an unrecognizable emotion. "That woman took House Potter, with all of its flaws, and turned it into something great! Henry, your great-grandfather, was the most masterful, ruthless politician I have ever seen, and Fleamont, Coquelicot's brother, turned out just as well."

"What am I supposed to make of that?" Gossamer asked suddenly. She might have only been eight, but that did not mean she was stupid. Accordingly, the girl was beginning to realize that both Coco and Gunnhilda expected something of her though they did not seem willing to say what it was.

"You were _supposed_ to understand that you have massive shoes to fill, girl," Gunnhilda barked sternly, "I expect nothing less than to see you fighting to surpass the achievements of your accomplished ancestors. If any of that hot blooded, Potter idiocy resides in your veins take careful note of what I am about to say." Those eyes raked so painfully slow across Gossamer's form that the child shivered. "Replace it with steel soon, or you will suffer in ways you never even dreamed of." Gossamer jumped suddenly when the old witch brought both hands together so that a booming clap erupted into the air. "Glimpa," She ordered imperiously, "Escort my niece to a set of suitable quarters."

Another House Elf, much younger than the first, apparated into existence with a sickening crack. "Come with Glimpa, Missus Potter," She smiled cheerily as that disturbing, broken English rattled harshly in Gossamer's ears. Exchanging an awkward farewell with Coco, and a sharp nod at Gunnhilda, she followed after the straight-backed creature from the elegant dining room. Everywhere the girl looked there was some splendorous sight to be admired. Moving paintings fluttered about from their spots on the walls, ancient Persian rugs partially covered the wooden floors, and outside the large windows a garden hidden behind the five story townhouse could occasionally be glimpsed.

They navigated through the sprawling home until Glimpa stopped in front of a simple door. "Glimpa set up the finest guest bedroom this morning," She smiled brightly, "Madame Gunnhilda told Wonky, who told Glimpa, that Missus Gossamer will be sleeping here until a suitable set of chambers is properly prepared for her." Extremely uncomfortable with being serviced by an Elf-slave-thing, let alone being serviced at all, Gossamer thanked Glimpa with a forced smile. Then her jaw dropped as she stepped into the 'guest bedroom'. A canopied bed of sapphire blue contrasted with the silver walls. Bocote flooring paved the entire way into an adjoining bathroom while beautiful furniture distracted her emerald eyes all through the tour.

Inevitably she was left alone in that massive room, with that massive bed, when Glimpa shut the door with a tiny click. Gossamer stared at the bed with a timid expression plastered across her face. All the girl had ever known was a spider-infested cupboard beneath the stairs of Number Four Privet Drive. The idea of sleeping on a king-sized mattress covered in something called Flobberworm silk was entirely foreign. One of her favorite quotes was that pennies did not fall from heaven, but were earned on earth. Now she found herself with two aunts, fame, wealth, and an entirely new world to cope with. Changing into her satchel sitting at the foot of the bed Gossamer changed for bed.

The Girl-Who-Lived spent her first night on the floor, staring into the busy, Westminster sky.

OOOO

Coquelicot Potter stared at the Minister for Magic stonily. No matter how much she tried the witch found herself unable to hide the contempt burning away at her heart. Politicians were all the same, different faces with equally corrupt ambitions. Her fingers curled so tightly inwards that blood gushed around those less than perfect fingertips. Both sets of the woman's teeth ground down tightly at the realization that she would have to find a new nail parlor as part of acclimating to the future. "You expect me to agree to resume working in the Department of Mysteries, in exchange for my life?" The incredulousness in her voice seemed to cause the Minister a great deal of annoyance.

Millicent Bagnold was clearly not the type to be told what she could, or could not, have. "Yes, and for a hefty paycheck as well." The woman's hard-lined, stony face revealed little emotion to Coco. "You well know, Miss Potter, that a career as an Unspeakable is more than just a career. It is a lifelong obligation to protect those secrets which could break the world itself." Her rigid posture bent somewhat when she leant forwards against the desk to glare dangerously at Coco. "Those commitments become all the more important after one takes a look at the unprecedented amount of knowledge you now possess regarding time travel."

"What knowledge?" Coco spluttered back indignantly, "I was assaulted by a shadow, and forcibly sent into the future. That was not of my own doing, nor could I ever hope to replicate his handiwork!" The flapper just finished speaking when a thought popped into her head. A realization which prompted her to pound a fist down on the desk in murderous fury. Glaring straight into Bagnold's crinkled, blue eyes she said, "You want me to become a test subject! To let your Unspeakables perform all of their experiments on me!"

A smile lit across the older woman's face, so cold that it prompted Coco to shift back in her chair with slight unease. "Yes, Miss Potter, that is exactly what I want. For you to shut that incendiary mouth, and crawl back to the Department of Mysteries every day until we have extracted whatever can be salvaged from your mind."

"What if I were to go to the press with this conversation?" The flapper snapped snidely, "How do you think the public would react to such threats being made against a citizen of the British Magical Community?"

Bagnold barked out a raspy laugh, "The public would never hear of such a thing. Unless you wish to have the most elite squad of Hit Wizards hunting you through London?" Only Henry Potter had ever been capable of sticking Coco in a position where her tongue ran out of fiery comebacks. Now she found herself pinned beneath the victorious glare of a woman who wished her nothing but ill will. "We expect to see you bright and early on Monday morning, Miss Potter," The Minister informed in a chipper tone, "Do make sure to come with a better attitude. You really cannot afford to come across the wrong way."

Coquelicot stood as Bagnold dismissed her from the meeting. She strode out of the lavish office into a rectangular room filled with secretaries. All of the brownnosing interns stared at the Potter woman, yet she did not even deign to roll her hazel eyes at their antics. All the way out of the Ministry Coco's head whirled with worried thoughts of what she would encounter in the Department of Mysteries. Torture? Legilimency? Perhaps the Unspeakables would even use the _Imperius Curse_ on her. By the time her feet touched down in the fireplace of Gamp Townhouse, Coco's heart was beating like a drum. Unsurprisingly Gunnhilda did not have enough compassion to even give her sister-in-law a moment before dispatching a House Elf to collect her from the kitchen.

"Mistress Gamp wishes to speak with Coquelicot Potter," Snitty spoke forcefully, "In her study." The flapper stared at him for a long moment before turning around to focus once more on preparing her much needed lunch. Showing the House Elf her back proved a massive mistake, for Coco soon found herself spiralling through time and space into a room which screamed hubris. Every bit of furniture was carved from cherry wood, ancient books of magical information lined the shelves, and Gunnhilda sat behind it all in a set of robes woven from Banshee silk. "Snitty has retrieved Coquelicot Potter as he was asked," The little creature bowed his head respectfully in his mistress's' direction.

"It is much appreciated, Snitty," The woman sniffed before displaying a terrifying attempt at a smile, "You may leave now." With another nod the House Elf disapparated with a _pop_. "You, however, will sit," Her host suddenly focused those eyes towards where Coco stood near the door, "We have much to discuss." Deciding, bleakly, that she now shared a child with her sister-in-law the young witch made her way over to the desk. Instead of sitting Coco stopped by a bookshelf, and allowed her fingers to graze gently against the glass casing. "Tell me what occurred during your day at the Ministry."

A bitter smile twisted Coco's pretty lips in a very ugly way. "Both the Departments of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement offered me very respectable positions," She admitted, "Though Bagnold made a proposal I could not refuse." Gunnhilda tried to speak, but Coco spoke over her. "In exchange for my life I am expected to resume working in the Department of Mysteries where the Unspeakables will perform their little experiments on me." The pair remained silent for a little while as the dent which had been blown into their secret plans sunk in.

"This does not matter," Gunnhilda declared slowly, "Look at Levinia Monkstanley, and all she accomplished in that department. You will work harder, and rise higher than Henry ever did." Somewhat stunned at hearing a motivational speech coming from the mouth of one of her greatest adversaries, Coco stood in dumbfounded awe. "That little girl who we have claimed as our own was, according to the mediwitch I summoned today," Gunnhilda paused to quote, "Brutally malnourished, and viciously beaten for years." She stood to both feet slowly with the assistance of her desk. "I will be the first to admit that I do not have many years left," The witch sighed tiredly, "And before my body has gone cold Dumbledore will pounce upon you with every bit of his might. No matter who stands in your way, be it Bagnold or the entire Wizengamot, you must bring our plan to fruition."

Coco wondered if she could commit herself to something so much bigger than herself. The future of a child, two Houses, and her father's legacy now rested on both of her shoulders with a crushing pressure. "I promise," She answered with a determined jawline, deciding that it was her responsibility to step up.

"Good," Gunnhilda answered neutrally, "Now sit down. Gringotts sent some paperwork that you should look over."

OOOO

Never could Gossamer Potter have believed she would sleep in a multi-million Galleon townhouse hidden behind powerful enchantments. Nor would the child ever have allowed herself to dream up such useless things. By this point, however, she was attempting to find at least some way to cope with the all the strange revelations which now batted tempestuously throughout her head. Witchcraft, Voldemort, Dumbledore, and a family who actually allowed her to sleep in a bedroom. Nothing proved a suitable distraction for the entirety of that first week spent in Gamp Townhouse, until the lessons started.

Every morning Snitty, the House Elf that followed Aunt Gunnhilda's commands with utter stringency, would apparate into the massive guest chambers. In a manner not entirely unlike Petunia's he would verbally berate her until she awoke. Gossamer was then forced to bathe with the most luxurious of soaps, dress in the expensive, 'temporary' clothing Coco had bought, and leave the bedroom by six in the morning sharp. If the day was a wednesday, thursday, friday, or saturday she would greet a groggy language tutor in the second parlor room. There Gossamer would sit for three hours learning the basics of Mermish, Arabic, Russian, Latin, as well as something called Gobbledegook. Too much mental energy was required during the lectures for her many questions.

After a _very_ brief break, where Coco would stop in to say goodbye prior to leaving for work at the Ministry, these lessons continued. Snitty would then return so that he could teach her how to play the two, dusty instruments which were hidden in plain view throughout the second parlor room. Even though his personality was somewhat detestable Gossamer sat obediently on an eighteenth century dragon hide until the worst was over. By 'worst' she meant that point when Snitty would rush her over to the harpsichord standing tall in the corner of the room. With all ten fingers aching from plucking at the harp for an hour she pushed herself through another hour spent sitting ramrod straight before the harpsichord.

Snitty would offer his parting criticisms before departing to resume obsessively cleaning the townhouse. Then at eleven o'clock sharp Gossamer found herself in the kitchens swallowing down a nasty Nourishment Potion under the watchful eyes of Glimpa. Out of all the residencies' inhabitants the girl found that Glimpa was the easiest to converse with. Both of her aunts were trying much too hard to gain her trust, and Snitty seemed utterly fixated on the idea of a new heir to House Gamp. Glimpa on the other hand was a breath of fresh air. The little House-elf smoked, drank, gossiped, and spent most of her days baking exquisite wizarding dishes. Of course the creature was not _outwardly_ rebellious, as Gunnhilda would never tolerate such defiance, but Gossamer managed to win her over.

Every moment that she was not in her lessons Gossamer could be found skulking around the property with her newest companion. Mostly the pair stayed in the kitchens where Glimpa reluctantly instructed the 'little missus' in baking. Other times they would visit the blooming, summery gardens behind the townhouse to care for the many, magical plants. The Potter girl found that she was just as good at dealing with the exotic fauna as the flowers of Number Four Privet Drive. For old times sake she often ended up lying in the flowerbeds with both legs sticking out, staring at the blue sky above. In those blessed seconds Gossamer Potter no longer worried about Gamp Townhouse, or what it meant to be free of the Dursleys.

She metamorphosed into a tiny piece of the very, very big universe.

OOOO

Next Chapter: We Have Seen Better Days.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: The Entire Fortune.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company.

OOOO

 **Three Years Later:**

The doors to Gringotts Bank opened allowing a golden ocean of sunlight to clash violently against the flickering, torchlit shadows. Then the massive entrance was shut once more revealing two women, or one woman and an unnaturally tall girl. Goblins were known to not pay visitors of the establishment much heed, but in this particular case they stared with very wide eyes. Moving forwards with a very confident stride was Coquelicot Potter, snappy, black bob whipping smartly against her prominent cheekbones. She in particular was not truly the source of their shrewd gazes. The time traveller had become a very public figure since arriving to the modern political scene three years ago. Almost every week, if not day, there was a new story in the Daily Prophet about the flapper's personal affairs.

Such a massive public interest was hardly surprising however. Coco Potter was proving herself to be a dedicated public servant. Rising to the position of second-in-command at the Department of Mysteries in only three years, revitalizing the ancestral Potter seat on the Wizengamot, and leading the charge for plenty of her own legislation. Frankly the Goblins were surprised she managed to ascend to such great heights without using the most obvious tool in her arsenal. Gossamer Potter. The Girl-Who-Lived, while still unproven as both a witch and politician, could already make magical Britain's elite shiver in fear. All of their power rested on a carefully positioned balance, and when that famous child took the reins from her great-aunt there was the potentiality for a massive upheaval.

For that reason the majority of the creme-de-la-creme was waiting with anxious breaths to actually catch a glimpse of the girl. Everyone knew that she was hidden away in one of the many Gamp residences under the protection of her other great-aunt, Gunnhilda Gamp. Yet now the Goblins of Gringotts Wizarding Bank found themselves staring down at that very enigma. The Girl-Who-Lived was striding with just as much confidence as the flapper beside her across the marble floors. Her hair looked smoother than silk, falling in undulating waves of the purest bombshell blonde. Startlingly green eyes glittered like smoldering emeralds beneath that ominous, lightning-bolt scar. All of the clerks continued to watch with mouths wide open until the pair arrived at their supervisor's desk. Instead of watching they all focused on listening.

"Madam Potter," The senior-most Goblin on the floor intoned neutrally, "You may continue on to meet with Head Accountant Hagglesnaggle. Would you like for an attendant to escort you?" Then, through the tiny glasses on his long nose, he turned to size up the Girl-Who-Lived standing just below his counter. Surprisingly, where most children would have glanced away timidly from the gaze of a Goblin, Gossamer Potter stared up at him with an unflinching facial expression.

"Thank you for offering," Coco lay a protective hand across her niece's shoulder, "But I do not require any such assistance today." Her voice was so frosty that even the stingy, Head Clerk knew to peel his eyes away from the Girl-Who-Lived. Then with a sharp twist of her vintage high heels the woman sashayed towards a side door with her niece now walking closer at her side. Neither of them breathed until they found themselves standing in a mammoth hall which slanted downwards into the ground. " _Those_ are Goblins, Goss," Coco smiled fondly down at Gossamer, "More prone to gossiping than Rita Skeeter, and more narcissistic than a Hippogriff in the heat!"

Two, beautiful eyes looked upwards into the woman's face with just as much fondness. "I would rather take on the mob back in Diagon Alley than that any day." This was, of course, a reference to the crowd which had swarmed them after someone noticed Gossamer's scar in the Leaky Cauldron. They began walking in a companionable silence, the girl content to mull over what was turning out to be the biggest day of her life. Everything her aunts had struggled so mightily to hide her from, the cameras and admirers, was given a degree of substantiality she never saw it with before. Additionally there was a sense of wonder which coated that newly discovered uneasiness towards her fame. Gossamer had been taken on summer trips to the magical bazaars of Cairo, Boston department stores, as well as eastern emporiums which sold all sorts of enchanted goods.

Diagon Alley was different from all of those big, impressive places. Charmingly cluttered, undeniably medieval in appearance, and packed full of ancestral nostalgia. Her parents had wandered about those maze-like streets to purchase their first wands. Both of them had stopped by Florean Fortescue's for generously sized scoops on hot, summer days. James Potter must have gazed with longing at the most popular broomsticks in Quality Quidditch supplies, just like Gossamer had. Little Lily Evans probably lost herself in the bookshelves of Flourish and Blotts, just like Gossamer had. So many memories rested mere inches beyond her fingertips, but she would never get a chance to hear them. The Dark Lord had seen well enough to that nearly nine years before.

She found herself jerked out of her mental ramblings when Coco stopped in front of a lavish door. "Hagglesnaggle is only loyal to us so long as House Potter remains profitable," Coquelicot warned, "Remember that, Goss. True dedication is not something which one can purchase." Then the witch was knocking on the door leaving the child with little else to do but nod her head in agreement. Every one word of wisdom her great-aunts saw fit to share was worth a thousand more. Gunnhilda Gamp and Coco Potter had rescued her from the Dursleys, nourished her with tender affection, and encouraged her to grow from an orphaned weed into the burgeoning rose of Houses Gamp and Potter.

The door creaked open from inside of the office. Coco stepped inside first forging a path for Gossamer to follow. Perched behind a large, ornate desk was a Goblin even older than the Head Clerk had been. He responded to Coco's polite pleasantries though all the while his beady eyes were locked hungrily in place on her. Finally he gestured for them both to sit down in the high-backed chairs across his desk. After settling into her seat Gossamer observed as Coco started to flick through the pile of folders which Hagglesnaggle had pushed across the wooden surface. "Your aunt has told me much about you during her appointments over the years," He remarked, taking the flapper's temporary distraction as an opportunity to focus all of his attention on the girl.

"Fluent in nearly five languages, endowed with incredible musical ability, and a very talented Quidditch player," Hagglesnaggle did not smile. The Goblin was sizing her up, and trying to assess just how sharp her mind was. Gossamer could respond in a number of different ways to his _very_ incomplete list of her many skills, but neither modesty or boastfulness would please him. Breathing deeply she summoned the guttural conjugations to her head as she leaned somewhat against the desk in that silky, confident manner Coco had practically trademarked.

" _I prefer to think of the many, many things I still have yet to learn, Head Accountant Hagglesnaggle_ ," She responded in that whispery voice, while the Gobbledegook trickled haltingly from her mouth. Next to her a proud smile seemed to be spreading across Coco's aristocratic features as she continued to read over the files.

Whatever response Hagglesnaggle was going to give Gossamer seemed to have been cut off in his throat when Coco spoke up. "The stocks are stronger than ever," She closed the thick folder with an elegant flick of her wrists, black, knit dress hugging her willowy body as her arm extended across the desk towards the accountant. He snatched the assortment of papers back, and then stuffed it back underneath the larger pile of files. "Now," Coco smiled radiantly, "Today is Gossamer's eleventh birthday. Surely you have prepared all of the necessary paperwork…"

If not for his rigidly, professional demeanor Gossamer imagined that the Goblin would have rolled his eyes. Instead he opened yet another binder full of curling parchment paper. "This," A yellow sheet of crackly parchment was shoved over to them, "Is a legal document which shall allow Miss Potter to change her name. Should she choose to sign it." His beady eyes connected with Coco's own, hazel pair. "Your sister-in-law has already updated her will with Miss Potter as the new heiress of House Gamp, along with several additional stipulations," He glanced at Gossamer, "Sign that document. Then I shall set you on your way, Miss Potter."

He resumed his absentminded task of reorganizing the pile of papers resting on the desk before him. Coco's hand fell upon Gossamer's shoulder reassuringly for what must have been the thousandth time that day. "There is nothing to be worried about, darling," The flapper encouraged, after having placed her signature on one of the two, dotted lines. With a small nod she grasped the quill from her aunt's fingertips before signing 'Gossamer Dittany Potter-Gamp' in wispy cursive across the second line. Even though she had been preparing for that moment over the course of three years it still felt as though a crushing weight suddenly fell upon her shoulders. She was now the legally recognized heiress of two powerful Houses, Wizengamot seats, and immense fortunes.

"Congratulations, Miss Potter," Hagglesnaggle smiled somewhat greedily, presumably because he in turn would prosper from having such a wealthy client. "For fear of keeping you two trapped in this office all day, these are all for your later perusal," Hagglesnaggle lifted the heavy stack of papers into the air prior to setting it back down closer towards Gossamer. "Now before I send you off with the keys to your vaults it would be prudent to warn you of a somewhat recent development," His expression was devoid of any emotion. "Some muggleborns, if they do enough genealogical research, find that they are descended from squibs," There was a meaningful expression exchanged between Hagglesnaggle and Coco. "Two years ago I discovered that Lily Potter had lain claim to a modest inheritance at the age of fifteen. Unfortunately this slipped passed me as she managed to convince another accountant to file all of the documentation under the fictitious name, Lily Budge."

"Why would she not have used her own surname?" Coco piped in a curious tone, "And how did you make this discovery?"

Hagglesnaggle held up a patient finger to silence the flapper's questions. "I must tell you that there were many... _questionable_ transactions made under that identity. We also have little idea what will be inside of the Budge vault since no official inventory has been submitted for ninety years." Gossamer focused more on wrapping her mind around this development than actually listening to what the banker had to say. Just how 'questionable' were her mother's undisclosed affairs that she would have needed a false identity? Pain started to claw its way through Gossamer's heart at the reminder that she might never know the answer to such questions. "Zygmunt Budge was, arguably, the greatest potioneer in British history," She tuned back into the conversation for fear of drowning beneath her negative, orphan-related thoughts. "Along with whatever remains inside the vault you shall also inherit the ownership of his many, patented recipes."

Processing this information while smoothing a wrinkle out of her flobberworm-silk dress, the young heiress nodded slowly. "Well," Her murmuring voice dripped with cordiality, "I do believe that is our cue to leave, accountant Hagglesnaggle. Would I be correct in presuming that you are in possession of the keys to my vaults?" She stood slowly while the Goblin presumably moved to retrieve the keys. Coco pushed the many files into her heavily enchanted purse while they waited. Several more moments passed until the banker circled around the desk, trading the ring of metal keys for two, elegant handshakes with the Potters. They soon found themselves standing inside of that hallway once more while the door clicked tightly shut.

"Nicely done, my love" Her beautiful aunt smiled as they walked back towards the main hall, "Knives are best hidden in plain view." For once Gossamer found herself struggling to understand the advice she had been given.

OOOO

Coquelicot Potter had had many nicknames over the course of her life. Lee, Coco, Poppy, slut, whore, trollop-. She winced mid thought at the negative trend which was starting to develop. Then her hazel eyes fell down towards Gossamer, and none of those other titles mattered half-so-much as being able to call herself an aunt. When Goss first moved into Gamp Townhouse it proved tricky business convincing the witty, intelligent child to come out of her shell. Shockingly what finally managed to bring the last, two Potters together were all of the things which left them so lonely in the first place. They would never see either of their families again, nor could they escape that loathsome fame which surrounded them like a shroud. Coco was the one witch to travel so far through time while Gossamer was damned to forever be the Girl-Who-Lived.

This kindred connection allowed the pair to not only grow closer, but to develop a powerful relationship as well. The flapper unknowingly turned into a mother hen performing all of the duties which her own mother had done for her. While Gunnhilda coveted Gossamer as a prized possession which could be used for braggadocious purposes, Coco was a nurturing figure. She listened, scolded, and instilled in her niece a belief that there were no limits to what could be accomplished. Beneath her watch the Girl-Who-Lived turned into the Girl-Who-Thrived. Where there once was a mistreated child, withering beneath the worst humanity had to offer, now stood a young Lady on the cusp of transcendency.

Nourishment Potions combined with Coco's vicious, backyard Quidditch games left Gossamer taller than her peers and very willowy. Hours of tutoring sessions shaped her into a well-rounded, accomplished girl. Fluent in five languages, skilled at jockeying both horses and Abraxans, graceful as a result of her many dance lessons, levelheaded during political situations due to years spent around Gunnhilda, and intelligent from all of the books she practically devoured. If all of those acquired skills were not enough, Coco's niece even demanded that she be allowed to continue her muggle schooling until Gunnhilda reluctantly enrolled her in Westminster's most costly private school. In less than a month of attending Gossamer was all-but-ordered by the academy's headmistress to skip two grade levels ahead of her equally brilliant peers.

"Are you nervous?" She asked her niece, snapping herself from her prideful recollections of the past three years. Gossamer turned allowing Coco's head to whirl hazily in a transfixed sort of way. With every passing day the ten year old woke up a little bit closer to becoming a beauty no one had ever before seen. The Girl-Who-Lived was a perfect blend of Potter, Gamp, and Lily Evans. Emerald eyes, high cheekbones, a straight-edged nose, wild Gamp-blonde hair which cascaded down to her waist in rippling waves. That mischievous, Potter smile which always caused the flapper's heart to ripple with maternal affection was revealed.

"I have been waiting a long time to look inside these vaults," She answered as the rollercoaster-like cart jammed to a halt. Fortunately both of them had been subjected to so many lessons in 'ladylike' composure that they managed to maintain their elegant slipped carefully up the stone steps to a metal door which stood as a resolute deterrent towards any sort of thievery. Coquelicot watched carefully as their guide opened the Budge vaults releasing an ocean of dust in the process. Gossamer showed no care for caution, as she strode purposefully into vault 438. Enchanted torches lit up around the square, stone room causing her eyes to widen violently. Shelves beyond shelves of books, jarred ingredients, and other potions-related objects greeted her green gaze.

The beautiful child rubbed at some of the dusty labels with delicate strokes of her fingertips. Re'em blood, Occamy egg fragments, Snallygaster feathers, Acromantula web, Nundu whiskers, as well as a jar of eyeballs which supposedly originated from Hags. Gossamer shivered with admiration while she continued to read the little no cards at a faster pace. Behind her Coco was doing the same thing with the massive collection of ancient tomes. "There must be thousands of galleons worth of ingredients here," She exclaimed, "Zygmunt Budge's personal collection!" Naturally the bright child was already quite well-read when it came to Potions, and Herbology despite not having attended Hogwarts. Even though half of the specimens were things she had never encountered in her books Gossamer could at least discern that what she did recognize was quite rare.

Suddenly in a wave of bombshell blonde she tripped on an object which was hidden beneath one of the towering shelves. Groaning, for her Banshee silk robes would surely be stained, the girl looked over to what had caused her to fall in the first place. A worn, old trunk had been left sitting close to the back of the vault near a humble pile of galleons, sickles, and knuts. She gasped when the initials became legible after all of the grime was swept away. _L. J. E_. Her mother's old Hogwarts trunk was sitting before her, and without any pause Gossamer attempted to pull the lid open. Much to her dismay it would not budge an inch, and Coco decided after waving her wand at the vessel that there were powerful _Locking Charms_ in place which needed removing. On that note they left vault 438's other contents to wait for further inspection in favour of journeying to the Potter vault.

The second trip was much less sophisticated as Gossamer found herself unable to stop sneezing due to the dirty trunk rattling at her feet. What they found in the Potter vaults proved itself worth all of the trouble though. Again a pair of metal doors were opened beneath the Goblin's skillful ministrations allowing the two into another cavernous chamber. This one contained ten times the space the last one had, and for good reason. Every inch of the stone flooring was packed tightly with objects. Old tomes lay forgotten in pillar-like piles which sat close to the walls. Furniture was hidden beneath sprawling, white sheets. Bags, boxes, along with the occasional trunk cropped up everywhere Gossamer stepped, but this time she was careful to sidestep it all.

"Goss, come here," Coco was gesticulating excitedly for her to move next to where she stood. Sitting on top of a sheet-clad chair was what appeared to be a jewellry casket. Etched into the silver box from top to bottom were hundreds of names. "The Potter chasset," Her aunt breathed in an awestruck whisper, "Each of these names belong to women who have served as Lady of the House, and added to the collection." Gossamer then noticed that some of the moniker's were familiar. Euphemia Gamp, Adelais Fleamont, Saila Pyrite, and even her own mother were all listed among the hundred-or-so other names. She watched as the older woman tentatively opened the lid. They both reached in to examine the contents resulting in the discovery that it was enchanted to contain more than she had initially believed.

Emerald necklaces, diamond earrings, solid gold anklets, ruby rings, pearled belts, and many other opulent gems slipped through the Potter girl's fingers. Her aunt eyed an opal encrusted tiara beneath the torchlight while Gossamer sniffed at dusty bottles of perfume. She smiled admiringly at the little, glass containers, "Vintage Guerlain Apres L'ondee, Houbigant, Dior…" She trailed off amazedly at the collection which seemed to span back two centuries. Coco grasped at her niece's wrist gently, halting all of the excited movements.

"I think it is far past time for you to have some jewelry of your own," The witch grinned with blindingly white teeth. "However, only the best is suitable for House Potter's heiress, and this box contains the very best." At those words the names on the box began to twist and writhe in violent undulations. They both pulled their hands back quickly watching carefully as the lid slammed shut on its own. After the names had finished shifting a new series of letters began to appear on the middle of the lid. _Gossamer Dittany Potter_. While Coco seemed quite pleased at having recovered the chasset, the Girl-Who-Lived felt a familiar emotion rise up in her chest. The sense that everything she owned, or had accomplished, was wholly undeserved. Sometimes Petunia Dursley's screeching voice would even ring through Gossamer's head as every nasty name bubbled back to the surface. Trying to ignore it all she spun daintily away from her aunt.

Interest lit her green eyes ablaze as though they were coals when she caught sight of something strange. A heavily fortified door lay partially hidden next to what looked like a pile of covered portrait frames. Tilting her head slightly in curiosity Gossamer stepped forwards slowly, robes swishing against the stone floor, blonde hair twisting around her shoulders. She suspected she knew what it contained even before Coco spoke from behind her. "That door leads to our House's riches," Her aunt spoke softly, "But that is an adventure for another day." Turning back around the girl noticed how immensely sorrowful her aunt's hazel eyes had grown.

A year ago they had taken a trip to visit Sallet House, the Potter's London residence, where Coco spent most of her childhood. They only spent thirty minutes in that old maisonette before the flapper suffered a sort of emotional breakdown. Memories had an odd impact on the last, two Potters. Most people saw the past as a beautiful thing to reflect on. They both understood that the past only contained reminders of everything which was stolen from them. Gossamer was cursed to never meet her family while Coco was cursed to have met her's. Walking forwards she wrapped her soft hands around the woman's elegant, yet calloused, pair. "We have the rest of our lives to look behind that door," The woman pulled her niece into a tight hug.

OOOO

The fireplace was immensely opulent. Crafted from soft marble, decorated with gold, and of such a grand height that even the magnificent chandelier could not compete. Green flames erupted viciously from the pristinely clean hearth, ripping slightly outwards. Coco Potter materialized into existence clutching the chasset tightly in both arms. Her heels clicked loudly against the wooden floors as she waited for Gossamer to arrive. Another explosion of emerald flames rocketed through the marble portal. Her niece's eyes glittered like emeralds from within the swirling, green flames. Straight-backed the girl who lived swept gracefully out of the fireplace despite the Hogwarts trunk which she was forced to pull along.

They both stood there for a moment admiring the beauty of Gamp Townhouse's entry room. A massive chandelier remained, as of yet, unlit. The floors were well polished and held a blinding gleam. Snitty, the foul-tempered House Elf responsible for the upstanding level of cleanliness, erupted into existence. He had the worst habit of appearing right at the very moment they arrived. "Most noble heiress of Houses Gamp and Potter," Snitty swooped into a noble bow, causing Gossamer to shift uncomfortably.

She stepped forwards, blonde hair swishing across her back. "Stand up straight, Snitty," The girl commanded in loud voice, "I will not have you behaving in such an undignified manner. This noble House would be nothing without the hard work you have put into taking care of us all." Coco watched exasperatedly as the creature looked up with watery eyes only to accept a professional, little handshake from Gossamer. Over the previous three years many bonds had been forged in Gamp Townhouse. During that time her niece had managed to worm her way deep inside of Snitty's heart. Few could claim to have truly _earned_ a House Elf's loyalty so totally and completely.

"Snitty," The flapper set her chasset gently on the glossy floor, "You always greet us when we make it to the stairs. What is going on that we must be intercepted here?" Instantly the smile flashed from the House Elf's face as he turned to regard her. If able to speak ills of a witch he would most likely have a flood of nasty sewage to dump on her. Since Coco's arrival to Gamp Townhouse a very uneasy alliance of semi-tranquility was reached, and _only_ because they both cared for Gossamer.

"Mistress Potter," He ground out subserviently, "Cassiopeia Black and Lucretia Prewett are visiting Gamp Townhouse. They have been in Lady Gamp's office for the past hour discussing matters unknown to Snitty."

Even though she was well-practiced at providing a levelheaded example for Gossamer's sake, Coco could not hide the fury which coursed through her hazel eyes in that moment. "How _dare_ Gunnhilda invite them into this home," She snarled ferally, "How _dare_ she allow them anywhere _near_ my niece." Looking so swiftly down at Gossamer that her bob whipped, Coco all-but-ordered her to stay hidden. Marching out of the entry room she strode determinedly through the halls of her sister-in-law's home. Minutes passed before the young woman wrenched the office door open with a wild bang. Three old women looked up with unsurprised expressions. Her voice began to sound as a nasty, foul curse leapt from the tip of her tongue.

A firm hand yanked the overextended arm down towards the floor causing the blast of violet to scorch the wooden floorboards. Gossamer moved to stand next to her aunt while staring at the two women with an aura that screamed resolution. "Forgive my aunt and I, we were both rather... unprepared for any visits to Gamp Townhouse this afternoon," That voice oozed like a silky noose, "Especially from the closest relatives of Sirius Black." Her tone was entirely diplomatic, yet the Girl-Who-Lived could not hide that scathing cynicism which burned behind those green eyes. "Lucretia Prewett," She nodded sternly at the one sitting to Gunnhilda's left who was wearing a massive headdress, "I must offer my condolences for the passing of your husband."

Lucretia Black nee Prewett did not respond, for the woman on Gunnhilda's right cut off any response. While somewhat aging there was something riveting about the witch's appearance. What hair had not turned grey was a silky, midnight black. Wrinkleless skin was stretched tight across a very aristocratic face, and what was the most angular jawline Gossamer had ever seen. "What a silver tongue this one has," She remarked while stepping to her full height, "Quite a knife-like way with words." Gossamer found herself unable to speak as the Black woman stepped towards her and Coco. The aforementioned witch attempted to lift the wand again until the girl stepped forwards with a defiant tip of the chin. Finally, with a cunning look in her brown eyes, she stopped in front of the Girl-Who-Lived, and grabbed at a lock of golden hair suddenly. "Pretty little thing as well," She spoke to Gunnhilda without turning, "Shame of her blood, or she would be of the highest caliber."

With a dismissive turn she sauntered back to her designated seat, not deigning to speak another word. "This is Cassiopeia Black," Gunnhilda explained to her sister-in-law and niece to fill the silence which ensued, "She has come with an intriguing proposition."

"To rub in our faces that House Black almost achieved its greatest wish?" Coco snapped bitingly, "That Sirius Black almost murdered the last Potters left?"

"No," Gunnhilda rolled her eyes exasperatedly, "Coquelicot. Cassiopeia has come to mend bridges with our Houses. To support Gossamer in claiming the _entire_ fortune of House Black." Gossamer fought hard not allow any slippage in the impassive mask which was coated across her face. Sirius Black, for whatever reason, left everything to her in his will. That did not necessarily mean everything though, for certain things belonged to the bloodline, and only one who was recognized as the blood-recognized heir of House could lay full claim. She twisted her left hand behind her back signalling for Coco to remain quiet. The witch was too much a Potter, too proud and fiery for situations like these. Gossamer felt sick about what was about to happen, but was not one to look an opportunity dead in the face. House Black was incredibly wealthy, almost fantastically so.

Crossing both arms she stepped forwards lithely. "Arcturus Black passed away last year," Her voice did not sound apologetic at all, merely factual, "That means your cousin Cygnus III is now the blood-recognized heir. How could I ever hope to usurp his claim?" Gossamer read the obituaries almost ritualistically, and in that moment it showed.

"Lucretia holds her late husband's seat on the Wizengamot," Her aunt answered from behind the massive desk, "In conjunction with our own, two seats that will be quite a bit of political capital. Additionally I have arranged for you to have an interview with the Daily Prophet which shall turn the public fully to our side." Gossamer knew that Coco was going to snap soon enough, yet she instead focused on absorbing the information. In exchange for a very uncomfortable interview the Black cousins would help her inherit the immense wealth of their House. There was hardly any difficulty in making her decision, yet one question remained unanswered.

"What is in it for _you_." She demanded of Cassiopeia, "Why on Merlin's beard would any Black ever wish to help a Potter. Much less the daughter of a mudblood?"

No one answered for a very long moment. Emerald-green eyes connected sharply with a pair of mud-brown orbs. Red lips finally peeled out an answer. "House Gamp only three years ago had no reason to remain in existence," Cassiopeia began to scrutinize Gossamer again, "Resigned to the fact that it would be passed along to some Bulgarian stranger. I find that my most noble bloodline will soon fall into the hands of my nephew Cygnus. A most detestable man." Based on all of the nods which echoed after, even Coco's, Gossamer supposed that such a statement was truthful. "He will then pass this claim along to his daughter, Narcissa Malfoy, who shall in turn bestow everything to her spawn, Draco Malfoy. Neither of whom are any easier to stomach." The Black witch shifted somewhat causing her turquoise robes to crease somewhat about the waist. "I was skeptical, of course, after first reading that your aunt Gunnhilda would try to turn a half-blood into the heiress of House Gamp. Yet in a mere five minutes of meeting you I find myself quite convinced."

"You want the same thing Aunt Gunhilda does," The girl surmised sharply in response, "A pretty, famous, intelligent, little witch to sit at the helm of House Black. To use what little Black blood runs through my Potter veins to carry your most ancient House into the future. Perhaps by even having me take on the surname, so that it can one day be passed along to a son."

"Cousin Cygnus is _quite_ detestable as well," Lucretia deadpanned, "Cassiopeia only managed to convince me here by promising that his shit-eating grin would vanish as a result." Turning back to Gunnhilda the woman sighed, "Before we were interrupted I believe you were speaking of an invitation?"

"Yes, we have scheduled for Gossamer's wand crafting to be held this upcoming Saturday," The Gamp smiled with guarded enthusiasm. "I wish to formally invite you to Ulick's Manor, where the ceremony shall take place. There the five of us can discuss the terms of your proposition under a more… Relaxed atmosphere." Here those cornflower-blue eyes glared furiously at the wand which was still clenched tightly in Coco's fingers. "In the meantime, Snitty will see you both to the entry hall." At the mention of his name the House Elf cracked into existence. The two cousins stood up, as Snitty escorted them from the office. Lucretia engaged Gossamer in a brief handshake while Cassiopeia merely took the departure as a final opportunity to size her down. Finally the door shut with a firm click.

"Why, Gunnhilda, why must you make such decisions without consulting me first?" Coco asked defeatedly.

"Because you are a provincial simpleton who sometimes lacks the political tact necessary for such delicate encounters," The silver-haired Head of House Gamp sneered.

" _Delicate_?" Coco scoffed indignantly, the fire flowing back into her hazel eyes, "Is that what we are calling Sirius Black's betrayal of Gossamer's parents? How can you even stomach the thought of spending that fortune _if_ it is even attainable? Dirty money from a corrupted bloodline!"

Gossamer huffed in a deep breath to prepare herself for what needed to be done. "I find that there is a sort of sick pleasure in using House Black for my own growth," She explained to her aunt, "That money will go towards charities, political movements. Anything that helps battle blood purist ideology." Facing Gunnhilda the girl asked, "Did you have to invite them to my wand crafting ceremony though? They are not family, and I have no particular desire to host them for such an intimate event."

A dark smile spread across her Gamp aunt's face. "I am afraid to say that you are missing the point my dear," Her voice was slightly chastising, "Cassiopeia and Lucretia _will_ be your family soon enough. They must be drawn as tightly as possible into our little alliance. Be that through the use of sentimental, _intimate_ events, or if push comes to shove, more persuasive methods." Slowly the eighty year old stood from her spot at the desk relying heavily upon the cane resting at her side. "We can discuss this in the dining room. I have sat far too long in this blasted office."

OOOO

Gossamer stood in her bedroom with both arms crossed tightly over each other. The golden sunset caused brilliant ripples of light to reflect off of her wavy hair. She temporarily looked away from what rested on the floor next to her feet. Dressed in a modest, chiffon nightgown the girl examined all of the furnishings of the massive chambers which had once been her grandmother Euphemia's. Everything was either red or gold in clear support of Gryffindor House, except the wooden floors and antique furniture that were honeyed tones of brown. Spread across every available windowsill, taped on the blank walling above her canopied bed were flashing pictures of Lily and James Potter. Every last one of the photographs were generous gifts donated by friends of her parents.

Turning back towards her present dilemma she sighed. Lily Evans trunk was forgotten by Coquelicot during the drama caused by the Black cousins. Now Gossamer found herself debating whether or not it would be prudent to keep things that way. Coco, though she loved the flapper dearly, did not appreciate the delicate fragility which went with certain situations. Whatever was so devastating that her mother had to hide it with powerful protective enchantments practically screamed 'fragile situation'. Not only that, but the Girl-Who-Lived wanted a connection to her mother even if it was by delving into the 'secret life' Hagglesnaggle had spoken of.

Having made up her mind she whispered resolutely, "Glimpa." A muted crack ripped through the somewhat chilly air, marking the arrival of House Gamp's other House Elf. She shared an admittedly close bond with Snitty, yet what she shared with this female Elf was stronger. For every thousand of the creatures born there was at least one who longed for freedom. Upon arriving at Gamp Townhouse she found herself drawn to the defiantly rebellious House Elf. Glimpa smoked cigarettes stolen from muggles, spent plenty of time crafting Elvish wine, then consumed most of said wine. On top of those entertaining characteristics Glimpa was special in another way. She could read.

Gossamer had discovered the House Elf's self-taught ability during her visits to assist in the kitchen. She noticed how Glimpa ran fingers across ancient cookbooks, laughed at the gossip columns of _Witches' Weekly_ , and seemed current on the latest news. The girl could remember what it was like to be trapped in an oppressive environment where success resulted in punishments. That, perhaps, was the reason why Gossamer trusted Glimpa so implicitly. Enough to bring her into this little secret. Smiling down at the young creature she gave the usual greeting. "Dinner was lovely this evening," Her voices gained a playful edge, "I suppose that means you had nothing to do with it then?"

A sarcastic sneer contorted those exotic, sharp features, "Honestly, I am surprised that you found my saliva to be so delectable…" Without invitation the House Elf strode towards the Hogwarts trunk with a curious spring in her step. Clawed fingers grazed skillfully across the air above the vessel only to pull back when fiery-red sparks erupted outwards. "I can sense a powerful layer of shields around this trunk," She articulated clearly, "So many, so intricate. Even Snitty couldn't open this, and he is infinitely better at such things."

"Could you shrink it for me?" Gossamer wondered aloud, feeling quite stupid. Having not gone to Hogwarts yet left her unsure of such topics. House Elves, on the other hand, seemed to have a peculiar combination of both innate talent and minimal training. Glimpa did not answer the question, instead waving a hand over the trunk again despite having almost been burned the last time. Thankfully, rather than lashing out, the box shrunk down to the size of her hand. "Now can I ask for another favour?" She wondered hopefully.

"I am your aunt's slave." There was nothing bitter in the words, just factual acknowledgment. The House Elf smoothed a hand over her provocatively cut, lacy pillowcase-dress. Gossamer wanted nothing more than to gift Glimpa with clothing so that she could wear something respectable. Because she at least _deserved_ to wear something nice, something which could accentuate her beauty. Slowly, though, the girl bit back on her cheek somewhat chidingly. That would not happen until Gunnhilda was six feet buried in the cold ground. Reaching for a floorboard which she knew to be loose Gossamer tugged it out with her manicured nails.

"Make sure that this spell holds while I am at Hogwarts," She spoke while setting the shrunken object into her hiding place. Resting it alongside most of her other secrets. "Please Glimpa." The eleven year old glanced beseechingly upwards at who was undoubtedly her most trustworthy ally. Coco was certainly a prominent fixture in her heart, yet she and Glimpa were firmly bound to one another as a result of both the past and future.

"I promise, Miss Gossamer," Glimpa sighed in a dreadfully formal tone, "Now get up. It does you no favours to kneel on the floor beside filth like me." Ignoring her friend's orders she enveloped the creature into a firm hug. Only to pull back a moment later when the Elf disapparated with a crack to heavens knew where. Sighing deeply the Girl-Who-Lived tried desperately to put her mother's trunk from her mind, at least temporarily. The Black cousins were already proving too much to handle.

OOOO

I have no idea how I dragged myself through this one. Nothing felt right, and there was a lot of filler, plot-stuff that had to be worked out. The next chapter will be a lot more engaging. Also if anyone has any tips for my changes in perspective that would be swell!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: The Crafting of Wands.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company.

OOOO

Singing Nettles were always a major bother, Gossamer recalled as she tossed her gloves aside. The buggers not only left vicious grazes across her arms, but were a magical variety as well. When one managed to find the proper way to twist the damned things they would sing eardrum-shattering, lewd songs in response. All of that work was worth it, however, for the flowerbeds were now bursting with renewed vitality. Standing slowly to her full height the willowy girl admired the Gamp gardens. All sorts of specimens, both muggle and magical, grew thick and untameable across the beds of dirt. She was fond of learning, so the opportunity to become acquainted with so many new plants had been something Gossamer set upon quite eagerly.

Much like with the flowerbeds of Number Four Privet Drive, her mere touch seemed to bestow life. A breeze whipped her loose locks of golden hair about, and unbeknownst to herself she looked like a thing of nature. Ferocious green eyes, tanned skin, clothing covered in dirt. Turning reluctantly Gossamer Potter-Gamp looked away from her beloved garden, for there was something more pressing to focus on. She slipped quietly into the Townhouse, up the stairs, then finally into her chambers. With swift steps the girl arrived at the massive table which rested before her impressive bookcase. Her most recent purchase from Flourish and Blott's had provided particularly useful tips regarding the cultivation of Moly plants.

After several minutes of stuffing the tome in various spaces she managed to fit it next to a dusty copy of _The Sacred Ninety-Seven: Families Scorned by Nott_. Then her gaze fell upon the stacks of Gringotts-stamped files obtained from Hagglesnaggle nearly a week ago. Thousands of sticky notes poked out of the _many_ papers revealing that House Potter's assets were a sprawling entity. Spinning away from the numbers that still needed to be analyzed, Gossamer marched towards her closet. Soon enough she was standing in front of her vanity mirror garbed in a very stylish pair of robes. Fiery green with lined silver brought out her eyes. "Good enough," She supposed aloud, "For Slytherin colors." With nothing less than intense nervousness the girl opened the chasset from the Potter vaults.

Soon enough the eleven year old was sporting an expensive necklace which complimented the outfit. Stopping only to pull her river of hair into a loose braid she soon found herself standing in the opulent entry hall. Coquelicot arrived only moments later clad in a plunging, midnight black dress. Gossamer wondered somewhat enviously if she would ever cut such a striking impression as her great aunt. Men, both muggle and wizard alike, seemed incapable of resisting the woman's dangerous charms. Tugging at a sudden itch the girl adjusted the collar of her robes. "Are you excited Goss?" Coco trilled liltingly, "I cannot believe that you are about to get your first wand."

"Nor can I," Came Gunnhilda's withered voice. She was dressed elegantly in the traditional purple and silver colors of House Gamp. "We brought you here, a broken bird," The witch smiled with rare emotion, "And now you stand ready to begin your journey. Every bit the heiress I knew you could become." Feeling shocked by the heartfelt speech Gossamer smiled genuinely at the Head of House Gamp's words. "Now," The older witch regained her stick-up-the-arse composure, "Our guests will not take very kindly to waiting." She strode into the fireplace, knobbly cane tapping against the marble floor all the while. After she disappeared Coco took a chance to pull her niece into the tightest of embraces. Such familial affection could not be displayed at at their destination. Not with the upper echelons searching for any weakness that could be exploited against the Girl-Who-Lived.

"Miss Gossamer," Came Glimpa's intelligent voice from behind her, "Remember that the best cure for the body is a quiet mind. Those jitters, and shivers will go away once you silence the voices in your head." Turning she found the Elf standing below her. "Your success is tied directly to mine own," Glimpa reminded crisply, "Do not fail me today."

"I promise," Gossamer found herself whispering with a very dry throat. Then she spun towards the fireplace with just as much grace as her two aunts had. Slipping inside with a fist which trickled bits of Floo Powder she articulated, "Ulick's Manor, Wiltshire." Emerald flames ripped her backwards into a depthless tunnel of darkness. After a tumultuous journey she stepped out of another fireplace into Ulick's Manor. Gunnhilda was nowhere to be seen, but Coco was waiting with a mild degree of impatience plastered across her face.

"Finally," The flapper cried out, golden bracelets clattering wildly from their positions on her slender wrists. "Tergeo," With a skillful flourish of her walnut wand Coco vanished any traces of soot from Gossamer's clothing. Feeling impeccably dressed once more the girl allowed herself to be herded out of the Manor's rather plain 'fireplace room', and into a massive hallway. Both Gunnhilda and Gossamer were direct descendants of Ulick Gamp, the very first Minister for Magic, which left them in possession of his magnificent home. No one had really lived in the place for a century or so because it was more of a museum than anything else. Sometimes the girl wished terribly that she did for there were two very special things to found at the Wiltshire residence. First, the Gamp-owned land ran wild with all sorts of magical plants. Second was Ulick Gamp's personal library which was filled with thousands of books.

"Prepare yourself," Coco warned with an irritated scowl, as they neared ever closer to the reception room. "Gunnhilda decided on her own that due to the recent… Development regarding House Black, we needed to capitalize on all of the publicity your ceremony can gather. You are far more likeable than Cygnus Black, do not waste this chance to prove it." Even though Coco disliked the idea of her being dangled in front of the public eye she was visibly biting back any protests. That was one of the many reasons why Gossamer loved the flapper with all of her heart. The loyalty displayed by her aunt truly could have rivalled any Hufflepuff's.

Coco waved the door open with a nonverbal flick of her slender wrist. 'My mind is quiet,' Gossamer reminded herself mentally, 'And my body is cured.' An astounding number of guests caused all of the positive affirmations to wither away into a pile of ashes. She remembered Gunnhilda promising that they would be having a far less taxing ceremony than most other families did. Suddenly the girl recalled that Gunnhilda's promises could be purchased a penny-a-dozen. This ceremony was packed to the brim with individuals of immense influence, wealth, and renown. In mere minutes she met all of Coco's prominent coworkers from the Ministry. Then with a ramrod straight back Gossamer found herself greeting the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. "Minister Fudge," She smiled with a practiced vivacity, "It is an immense honor to make your acquaintance." Honestly, though, it was not. Fudge allowed the Ministry to be run by corrupt men such as Lucius Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore.

He was a repulsive politician who seemed entirely too eager to get into everyone's good graces. She found herself far more impressed with the likes of Amelia Bones, and hoped to high heavens that the stern witch would replace Fudge. Many of Gossamer's prospective Hogwarts peers were present as well. Augusta Longbottom arrived with her timid grandson in tow. Hannah Abbott, a bubbly blonde, tried to suck onto her like a leech, but Gossamer soon lost the insipid girl in the growing throng of arrivals. A voice rang vociferously out through the boisterous atmosphere as though cutting across a block of butter. "That scar is not quite so hideous as I imagined it might be."

She turned around finding her green eyes locked on another eleven year old who stood next to an ancient bust of some pompous-looking Gamp. Hesper, Gossamer deduced, before focusing her attention on the dirty-blonde who was sipping daintily from a cocktail glass. The alcohol itself did not really phase her in the slightest, for purebloods were typically lenient when it came to allowing their progeny a sip or two. Gunnhilda and Coquelicot often encouraged Gossamer to have some wine during especially fancy outings. Wine here and there was quite different from a gin concoction though. "Well might I suggest, with the utmost politeness, that your beverage is impacting your sense of judgement?" Gossamer's keen response was well-tempered with an even tone.

"You may not," The other girl responded dryly, "I actually find that a nicely prepared martini peels my eyes open a little bit wider. One's inhibitions do start to get rather dirty when they are not bathed." With that she took another sip of her far-too mature drink with a far-too mature emotion glimmering in those shockingly silver irises. Gossamer reckoned to herself that she would grow into the sort of witch that broke many hearts.

"A single martini is _hardly_ enough to even wash your hands. If you are going to quote Oliver Reed _do_ take into account that he drank his spirits by the gallon," The Girl-Who-Lived sensed the odd sort of atmosphere as she uttered this rebuttal. Their conversation could not really be called a struggle, but it did seem as though they were testing each other. Lacking social interactions with other wizarding heirs meant that Gossamer was quite unfamiliar with the practical side of such cultural conventions.

"How do you know that this is my first martini?" Her voice was now a shade more playful than probing. Rather than allow their game to continue, however, she cast that silver gaze across the, admittedly massive, parlor room. In every available space there seemed to be some gaggle of wizarding elite conversing amiably together. The bombshell blonde wondered if they were debating what the outcome of her ceremony would be. Perhaps whether is could go half as bad as Gregory Goyle's had only a month earlier. "They make me think of vultures," She whispered in a slightly fascinated tone, "Hoping you fail so they can pick at whatever is left."

"Did I happen to catch your name?" Gossamer rounded away from the throng back towards the nameless girl. Unfortunately a pack of wizards, all on the Wizengamot, had migrated between them making any further attempt at conversation impossible. Taking it as a cue to reinitiate her circular patterns of self-introduction she swept daintily throughout the crowd. Various elites loudly tittered about everything from her expensive outfit to how shockingly elegant she was for an eleven year old. Especially one who had spent her early years being raised by a pack of abusive muggles. Those particular comments did not really ruffle her feathers for Gunnhilda prepared her for such judgement ages ago. She might have been the Girl-Who-Lived, but she would also always be seen as that half-blooded orphan who needed rescuing from muggle scum.

Her head whirled nastily from circling around from one guest to the next. For a slight moment she stopped against the wall again to take a break. Her green eyes examined every detail of the luxuriously furnished reception hall. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ornately gilded ceilings above, shimmering hundreds of different colors. Marvelous refreshment tables were being tended to by uniformed attendants who kept every aspect of the gathering in tiptop shape with their wands. Standing in the middle of this gaggle was Coco who swirled about more lissom than a dancer. Gossamer wondered how her aunt could so easily engage strangers in conversation.

A clawed hand fell on the girl's shoulder causing her to look upwards to the right. Cassiopeia Black smiled at her with a predatory smile, "She is a social powerhouse, that Coquelicot Potter. Beautiful, witty, captivating, and shrewder than a Goblin." The girl could only nod her head in agreement feeling those adjectives bite through her flesh. Right to the bone. Coco was everything that Gossamer needed to become, and some more. Watching her beloved aunt at social functions was causing an odd sort of envy to wrench through the girl's gut. "You shall surpass her soon enough," Cassiopeia nodded with a sly smirk.

She wondered if her mouth must have fallen open in an expression undignified shock, for the woman simply nodded again. "Perhaps now it seems unlikely, but a year at Hogwarts shall surely quell any doubts. Gunnhilda seems to believe that you are Henry Potter incarnate. Seeing you interact with all of these bumbling fools today has only proven her suspicions correct." The Black witch paused thoughtfully, "Radiantly charismatic, fluent conversationalist, sharp as a knife, and not to mention all of that potential. Soon enough you will inherit three Houses. Soon enough, you will become one of the most influential figures that Britain has ever seen." No words could manage to escape from her throat at being assured of such things. Gossamer was absolutely stunned by the mere speculation that she could ever possibly surpass Coco.

That hand dug even harder into her shoulder bringing the girl's mind firmly back into her head. Cassiopeia smiled tightly, "If your ceremony is not an utter humiliation expect an invitation to my London residence. We have much to discuss should I publically support you as my heiress." Then she whirled away into the pulsating crowd leaving Gossamer struggling to gasp for breath. An hour passed swiftly with the Girl-Who-Lived greeting more guests whilst absentmindedly contemplating how her ceremony would pan out. If she proved a weakling it could result in a total loss of House Black's full fortune, for Cassiopeia's support was of tantamount importance in defeating Cygnus's claim. Gunnhilda found her while she was conversing animatedly with a very tipsy Devlin Whitehorn, the founder of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company. No matter how hard she pressed for answers the obstinate drunk refused to reveal any details for his upcoming limited edition of the Nimbus 2000.

"The wandmakers are about to arrive," Her elderly aunt declared politely to Whitehorn who merely batted his drunk hands in the space between them. Gossamer then found herself being led to the front of the reception hall, left elbow linked firmly within Gunnhilda's right arm. Soon enough Coco was standing next to them with the Black cousins somewhat close by. A semicircle of empty space opened around the three witches as they waited for their final, most important guests to arrive. The clock shifted ever so slowly to one in the afternoon prompting a spontaneous reaction. Green flames exploded in violent jettisons as multiple wizards stumbled from the fireplace at once. Someone dressed in American-style robes materialized with a clapping boom out of thin air tossing an empty can to the pristine floor. Six people in total soon stood shoulder-to-shoulder before them. Both of her great-aunts brandished their wands with sharp flicks.

The wand crafting ceremony was about to begin. Standing straight Gossamer allowed herself to embrace an ancient ritual which thousands if not millions of other witches had already undergone. "We present our ward and niece to these agents of magic," Gunnhilda announced with a magically enhanced voice, "Servants of Hecate, followers of Epona, and attendants of many others. May they bless Gossamer Dittany Potter-Gamp with an instrument reflective of her worth." Her wand swished in an dainty arc above Gossamer's head releasing a cascading shimmer of royal purple sparks.

"We deliver our beloved child into magic's powerful embrace. Might she claim her birthright and ascend to the higher planes," Coco started. "May the blood of our blood, flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone be gifted with an instrument reflective of her worth." She crossed her wand with Gunnhilda's causing sparks of red light to erupt outwards. "I bid our niece and ward permission to step forth." The two women slipped backwards where they came to a stop near the Black cousins. Breathing somewhat deeply Gossamer stepped closer to the six wandmakers. She listened as they introduced themselves to the crowd, and reflected on what would come next. Wand crafting ceremonies were ancient, coming of age customs performed mostly in pureblood communities.

For a notoriously hefty sum of gold one could convince the world's greatest wandmakers to work in tandem on a single wand. Rather than Ollivander's three 'supreme cores' and limited woods selection one was exposed to almost every magical conductor available in the world. That in part was why such rites could be very humiliating for wizarding families. Some heirs found themselves stuck with almost ridiculously weak wands. Combined with the increase of public interest in declining wizarding traditions many young wizards found their reputations greatly sullied. Gregory Goyle Jr., for instance, found himself not very long ago the unfortunate owner of a wand with Horklump pus as the core. Having his son's magical deficiency so widely publicized proved quite embarrassing for Gregory Goyle Sr.

Gossamer was so caught up in these thoughts that a scream almost erupted from her throat when the wandmakers finished their introductions. Each of them wasted no time initiating the process of handcrafting. Countless, enchanted tape measurers started to wrap across her body as though she were a mummy. The wandmakers started to open the various trunks and bags they had carted along from their respective corners of the world. "We shall begin with the wand woods," Announced Hattak Wolfe to his peers who simultaneously scoffed at being bossed around. Nonetheless they began to shift everything round until several containers were spread before her.

"Do you feel anything," Wondered Maeve Beauvais, an alluring American witch. Her voice was intoxicating. "Allow your senses to guide you. Feel for those woods which call out." Most of them men in the room seemed entranced by the woman's beauty, but the wandmakers present simply rolled their eyes. In various, slotted forms were massive blocks of wood. Every texture, shape, and color imaginable passed beneath Gossamer's grazing fingertips. There were no labels to be seen as such knowledge often proved a detriment to discovering the proper wand. Many woods such as silver lime and aspen were highly coveted in certain circles and some would prove more eager to choose those. She stood straight with the intention of moving on to the next box of wooden blocks. In response Mykew Gregorovitch hissed with disappointment at having been tossed out of the running.

That was when a tidal of wave of energy crashed over body. Gossamer stumbled back a few steps in shock causing some people in the crowd to whisper. One by one the girl passed each of the wandmaker's containers until coming to a stop at the smallest of them all. Reaching down while ignoring the other blocks she felt for the wood which was calling to every inch of her being. Beauvais strode forth with an arrogant spring tingeing her movement. She halted suddenly at seeing the block which rested in the Girl-Who-Lived's palms. "Interesting choice, Miss Potter," That silky voice remarked. When the block was passed into her own hands the wandmaker brushed some of the dust off to reveal rippling patterns.

With a swirl of her black hair Beauvais spun back to a spot between two of her more envious peers. Andrew Jonker, a wandmaker from New York, seemed very eager to move on from the loss. "Pak," He whipped his own wand at the row of exposed woods causing them all to latch closed again. With a quick _Banishing Charm_ the closed vessels then returned to behind where their respective owners stood. "Cores," He announced simply prior to that moment when the assembly of wandmakers revealed more specimens. This process went much the same way as the first one except that instead of woods Gossamer was poking at magical substances. Erumpent horn, Griffin feather, Horklump pus (here she released a sigh of relief), Thunderbird feathers, Wampus Cat hairs, Coral, and even flesh from a Merperson. All of them passed her entirely by until the tugging happened again.

This time, however, every drop of blood in her body sung the closer Gossamer neared Gregorovitch's cracked medicine bag. Reaching inside she pulled out a small phial which was mostly empty. Nestled on the bottom was a small well of water. Something still called out to her from within the line of boxes. Ignoring Gregorovitch's words as he swiped the phial from her shaking hand she tilted her head in the direction of another receptacle. Head tilting, bombshell blonde braid sweeping across her back, the girl extricated a second core. Almost instantaneously there were disbelieving whispers across the room. The line of wandmakers seemed to disagree mightily over what just occurred before their very eyes. "Not possible," Gregorovitch protested loudly, "Vhat are you doing child?"

"It is not impossible," Beauvais dismissed her senior easily, "The block of wood I am holding can accommodate widely conflicting characteristics in a wielder. Besides, have you not read of the few historically recorded dual wielders?"

"I agree wiz Mademoiselle Beauvais," An ancient witch croaked up after having been largely silent throughout the whole process. Gunnhilda, despite an irrational dislike of the French, invited Madame Lefebvre to balance out Ollivander's lack of attendance. The British wandmaker was too close with Dumbledore for comfort, so other masters of the art like Gregorovitch and Lefebvre were necessary. "My entire bloodline 'as crafted wands for almost one-zousand years. Yours for a quarter of zat. Nuzzing eez 'impossible' when wands are involved."

The domineering woman then peeled a withered hand off of her staff to snap at Hattak Wolfe. He got the hunched crone's message and strode over to Gossamer in response. She handed the tube of silvery-red liquid over to him easily enough. "We will now commence the crafting of Gossamer Dittany Potter's wand," Lefebvre declared loudly, slamming her staff into the floor. Surprise must have been every inch of the girl's face as she hopped back suddenly. A massive curtain that was conjured into existence blocked the six wandmakers entirely from view. Somewhat befuddled by that borderline academic argument Gossamer made her way to where Coco and Gunnhilda stood next to the Black cousins.

"There has never been a witch or wizard that did not turn out to be somewhat interesting, if not powerful, with a dual wand," Lucretia snapped at Coco who did not seem pleased whatsoever. "Put a smile on your face. Gossamer has done all three of our Houses proud today, and they haven't even revealed her wand yet." All of them knew that she was listening, but they did not seem to really care.

"They live very interesting lives," Coco conceded nastily, "But interesting is not always good." Then the flapper turned around to face her niece. "Come with me to get a refreshment, Gossamer. I dare well say it looks as if you are in desperate need of one." She pulled her niece away from Gunnhilda and the Blacks forcibly, but that did not stop her from locking eyes with Cassiopeia. Green connected with brown for the slightest of moments though something about the woman's eyes gave her the impression that a luncheon invitation was certain to arrive by the next morning.

OOOO

The butterbeer in her stomach was already sloshing around by the time those velvet curtains opened again. Upon reaching the climax of her nervousness Gossamer wanted nothing more than to puke out her brains. Instead she stood there with unwavering posture, paying no heed to whatever sinister things the Black cousins were whispering to each other. Coco pushed her forwards gently towards where the six wizards were arranged in a careful order. Beauvais, Wolfe, and Gregorovitch all huddled together around an undecorated, maroon box which hovered in midair. On either side of the trio stood Madame Lefebvre, Jonker, and a Chinese wandmaker named Xian Yen. All of whom clutched objects tightly in their arms. "Might Gossamer Potter step forth to claim her destiny," Beauvais smiled invitingly from between her colleagues.

The girl did as was asked of her though now there was an excited undercurrent lining the nervousness. Her wand was contained inside of that slim box. Inevitably the slow clicks of her polished shoes ceased when she came within several inches of the floating case. Breaths slowing substantially Gossamer cracked open the lid to reveal something truly magnificent. All the Louis Vuitton shoes, mansions, cars, broomsticks, or jewels that the world had to offer did not compare to that wand. Undulating bands of brown shimmered beneath afternoon light disseminating about the room through the large windows. Her manicured fingernails ghosted across the mother-of-pearl inlaid handle which was an identifiable characteristic of Andrew Jonker's wands. Etched into one side of the handle was a snarling beast with vicious fangs. Directly opposite it some sort of regal bird peered upwards with outstretched wings and defiant talons.

Steeling herself Gossamer Potter slipped the wand into her left hand with a loose grasp. She gasped when a life changing sensation rushed up the length of her arm. Somehow both cool and warm at the same time, emotionally satisfying yet intellectually stimulating, every part of her being was rearranged in an entirely new way. A powerful burst of golden light burst from the steady tip of the wand where it pulsed with a buzzing energy until finally dying out. Leaving nothing more than the scents of swirling bourbon and fresh ink dancing across the air. Suddenly unable to breathe the Girl-Who-Lived listened as the three wandmakers took turns speaking.

"13 ¾, snakewood, unyielding," Beauvais whispered with a sort of entranced wonder, "Excellent wood for Transfiguration."

"A core of Phoenix tears," Gregorovitch added gruffly, "Collected at the beginning of my career from a Phoenix of prime strength. You vill find this substance remarkably helpful in healing magic." A pause, "Though many of its properties I cannot even attempt to predict given that it has probably never been a vand core before."

Everyone then turned to stare at Hattak Wolfe with eager curiosity. Dual-core wands were immense rarities. Only those who embodied deeply conflicting natures found themselves the owners of such tools. When considering the fact that certain contemporary wandmakers, like Ollivander, utilized only three 'supreme' cores the phenomenon became increasingly uncommon. This man would reveal to the Wizarding World just how special Gossamer was. Exactly what kind of nature the young celebrity was hiding from view. "Hidebehind blood," Wolfe said with a somewhat remorseful tone. "A man named Phineas Fletcher bred his contraband Demiguise with a Ghoul several centuries ago. The result of this crossbreeding was a new creature later named the Hidebehind. Capable of turning invisible, but also able to change shape as well." Gossamer could only stare down at the snarling creature carved into the hilt of her already beloved wand. "My great-grandfather, Shikoba Wolfe, almost died after encountering this particular Hidebehind. Eight feet tall, responsible for having murdered nearly thirty victims both muggle and wizarding. All he received in return was the blood swirling within your wand right now."

Stumbling to the left a few steps she turned her green gaze to Madame Lefebvre. "I pree-zent zis bottle of Bowtruckle extract. You will find zat zis eez uzeful for zee polizing of your wand."

Heavily weighed down by the massive jar, and trying not to think of how one extracted a Bowtruckle, Gossamer was relieved by Xian Yen's simple gift. "My wand holsters are the best to be found in the Wizarding World," His crisp English conveyed clear pride, "Hopefully you will find this to be very useful." She accepted the offering easily along with his final words. "That is made from Tebo hide. A South African beast that can turn invisible at the blink of an eye. You will discover some additional enchantments have been added by myself." Relief rushed over her tense shoulders at having survived the ceremony without becoming a laughingstock.

Then she recalled that there would still be a very long dinner spent in the company of Britain's most corrupt public servants.

OOOO

Gossamer's head was slumped on the table within her chambers by dawn of the next day. Spread about were various presents in various states of unwrapping. Some were in desperate need of putting away while others simply needed to go into an already-full rubbish bin. Given that the expensive ceremony was her first ever semi-public birthday many guests decided it was an excellent opportunity to curry favour. Most of the books gifted were either rare editions or narcissistically autographed. The majority of them were kept. Then there were the miscellaneous objects which required a bit more inspection. Whitehorn's 'inconspicuous' package proved to be a limited edition Nimbus 2000 that allegedly left streaks of golden light wherever it touched the air. Apart from a few other fascinating objects much of it was trashed.

Then after this gargantuan task of sorting came to an end she found herself absorbed in the hardest part of the process. Writing thank you letters. Not even just for the presents, but to everyone from the guest list as well. Eventually her usually sharp wits were a puddle of mush fit for nothing more than to write tiresome notes drenched in both cordiality and ink. Right when sweet oblivion was close to giving her its gentle kiss of sleep a loud tap disturbed the peace of her chambers. Sighing unhappily Gossamer rolled her shoulders only to cause herself slight pain. Upon arriving at the window she was greeted by the sight of a small, vibrantly blue bird. No noises escaped from the little thing's beak as it hopped into the room to better extend the scroll tied to its little leg. She knew who this was from though the girl never expected for Cassiopeia to prove so prompt.

' _I will be sending my House Elf to collect you tomorrow at noon for lunch. Dress in a manner which befits the heiress of three Houses, or do not come at all._

 _-Cassiopeia Black._

 _P.S. This little fellow is a Jobberknoll. In all my travels across the world I have found that silent companions make the best companions. Treat him well._

Gossamer Potter-Gamp leant against her windowsill while the small sheet of parchment crumpled. She only smiled when the silent Jobberknoll nipped inquisitively at her fingers.

OOOO

Hopefully this chapter was more engaging. I feel like the details just got so out of control...

Next Chapter: Promotions and Other Posh Things.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Posh Promotions and Other, Fancy Things.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company.

OOOO

It was not often that Gossamer Potter found herself experiencing that foreign emotion known as guilt. Such feelings were usually reserved for those immature eleven year olds who often gave into mischievous shenanigans. Gunnhilda, on rare occasions when a bit of reprimanding was necessary, sternly reminded her that she was no ordinary child. That the heiress of Houses Gamp and Potter could most certainly not act anything short of a proper lady. Ironically that was the very reason the girl found herself sneaking out of Gamp Manor early on a summer day. Each of them owed a responsibility to their bloodline. Both Coquelicot and Gunnhilda had sacrificed enough so that Gossamer could one day be ready for this very task.

Clad in a pair of designer robes she stood in the garden whilst desperately hoping that her leather shoes would steer clear of any mud. Crossing both silk-clad arms she allowed her fingertips to just barely graze that holster which contained the most precious of belongings. Right when Gossamer started to think that no House Elf would ever come to collect her, and Coco would catch on to everything, a crack ripped across the gardens. Standing in the muddy grass was an admittedly downtrodden looking House Elf. "Tinsele has been sent to collect Mistress Gossamer Dittany Potter-Gamp by Madame Cassiopeia," The creature whispered timidly.

With a swiftly shattering heart, the girl reached out to shake at her escort's hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance Tinsele," A shocked, tiny little hand obliged uncertainty, "Let us be getting on our way now. Alright?" Not a second later the Girl-Who-Lived was wrenched into existence once more inside of a spacious kitchen. Twice the size of Gamp Manor's, with enchanted cookware flying about every which way in order to prepare breakfast on time. Gossamer smiled at the scents which flooded her perfectly-shaped nose, "I love kipper and eggs. Your cooking smells absolutely delightful, Tinsele." Her compliment seemed to make the House Elf highly uncomfortable.

"Tinsele simply serves the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black what their righteous bloodline deserves," She croaked out rather nervously. Bustling over to a cast-iron stove the little House Elf began to work on some odd task, turning her back specifically away from the girl. Feeling overwhelmed with how subservient Cassiopeia's House Elf was Gossamer made her way out of the kitchen hurriedly. There was no point in losing any sleep over Tinsele's poor treatment, for until she became Head of House Black nothing at all could be done. So in the meantime her mind grew focused on what the breakfast with Cassiopeia might bring. Extravagant room, after extravagant room passed Gossamer by until finally she entered into a large dining area.

"Took you long enough," Cassiopeia sniped somewhat unkindly, "I was starting to think you were still asleep."

"I am ten minutes early," She bit back with just as steely of a tone, slipping over to take a seat across from the witch. Only to be tssked at with a wagging finger and sharp glare.

"Sit next to me. Unless you really would like to sit between our guests, and I hardly recommend that." With that Cassiopeia took a casual sip of her steaming tea while smirking mirthfully up at Gossamer's bewildered expression. "Oh please, do not look so surprised," She waved a dismissive hand, "You hardly expected me to invite you here for a simple chat, did you? This luncheon is all about testing your mettle. Identifying just what sort of heiress Gunnhilda managed to create for herself."

Whatever witty response was about to burst from the girl's mouth in response was interrupted by Tinsele. "Madame Cassiopeia," The House Elf sounded absolutely terrified, "Master Cygnus, Mistress Druella, and Madame Araminta Meliflua have arrived." Horror momentarily flashed through Gossamer Potter's soul like a flash of lightning. Did Cassiopeia really expect an eleven year old to face off against some of the biggest blood purists in British society? There was no time at all for such concerns, however, for three individuals wasted no time slipping into the room. Cassiopeia did not bother to stand as Gossamer slipped gracefully over to the available seat next to her.

One of the women who had jet black hair sneered at them both. "My have you fallen far, Cassiopeia," Her voice was coarse as sandpaper, "I can tell by the company you keep." Cornflower blue eyes flitted dangerously in Gossamer's direction.

"Now Araminta," Smiled a wrinkle-faced witch who must have been Druella Rosier, Cygnus's wife. "We need not waste our breaths lashing out at the spawn of a mudblood. Besides, why hate her when she is clearly being manipulated by all of the venomous tripe which seeps from Cassiopeia's mouth." With a taunting bravado Druella slipped into an available seat across from her two adversaries. "Sit, you two. It is far past time for us to put these filthy mud lovers in their respective places."

At that comment Cassiopeia released a peal of dignified chortles. The sort that a proper lady generally exuded when preparing to viciously deconstruct a foe. "Listen to yourselves, debasing my reputation with such traditional prejudice. That way of life disappeared with the Dark Lord after the girl sitting beside me destroyed him."

"An event which I doubt the filthy brat can even remember," Araminta hissed bitterly, "I would like to see how she matches up against my wand." The threat took their already hostile conversation to a very dangerous new level. Gossamer straightened up to peer emotionlessly into the woman's crazed face, unafraid of the challenge. "How will you fare without that muggle-loving, whore of an aunt to hide behind. Hmmm?"

Maintaining composure, as any proper lady should, the half-blood delivered a biting response. "Quite well, actually," Her voice was taunting, yet in a demure sort of way, "Imagine the sheer amount of criticism you would face for attacking the Girl-Who-Lived. A single curse from your wand and Cygnus Black III would lose what little Wizengamot support he already had by tomorrow morning." Tossing back her bombshell blonde hair, Gossamer smiled condescendingly, "Now do try to keep in mind which side you are supposed to be on." Ignoring the seething rage which blossomed in the witch's piggy eyes she turned to level her green gaze upon Druella. "There is hardly enough Black blood running through your veins to have any credible stake in this conversation. Cousin Cygnus is a grown wizard. Let him speak for his own interests."

The man seemed somewhat relieved at to finally have a chance at putting the Potter heiress in her place. A split-second later any cracks in his haughty facade were buried deep from sight, however. "My claim has garnered approval from more than half of the Wizengamot," He did not sound smug, merely factual, "Even with batty, old Lucretia's vote you have no chance of winning over such a coalition."

"I never took you for a funny man, Cygnus," Cassiopeia pressed both hands flat against the table, "But in a matter of minutes you have proven my lifelong assumption wrong. Gossamer is the niece of Gunnhilda Gamp and Coquelicot Potter who are both wielders of great, political influence. Do you really think that I never took your little coalition into account?" She tossed her greying-black mane back defiantly. "Every sane member of that blasted council would side with the Girl-Who-Lived in a heartbeat. Do you think that the father of the Dark Lord's most notorious follower would have anywhere near the same level of support?"

He opened his mouth to respond until Araminta piped into the conversation again. "We have plenty of support," Her own fingers were curling into the table. "Eighteen of the Sacred Twenty-Eight have pledged us their support. You are a filthy, traitorous bitch with the claim of a mudblood slut's whelp! When this House falls into Cygnus's hands we will freeze your trust vault, and blast you off the family tapestry!"

"Thank Merlin, Cassiopeia," Gossamer whispered dramatically while clutching a hand to her heart. "I thought for a second she would contribute something meaningful to this conversation." Smile freezing in a cold manner she focused on all three of her opponents. "Purebloods are hardly so powerful as they would like to think. We no longer live in 1931. Nearly every person in our population is either married to, or the child of, a muggleborn." This all was said in a lilting, taunting tone, "So long as my name is in the mix your gang of eighteen will never bully the Wizengamot." Now any mirth shining in those green eyes was replaced with steely seriousness. "Get this through all of your thick heads. I, a half-blood, will claim House Black's entire fortune. You three will get nothing except for whatever scraps Narcissa Malfoy deigns to throw in your impoverished directions."

At this declaration Araminta stood to both feet abruptly. When her chair slammed against the floor she spit hatefully upon the table. "You will pay for the filth you consort with," An accusing, knobby finger, pointed in Cassiopeia's direction. Then that homely face sneered in Gossamer's direction, "I promise that someone, someday will put you in a grave where you belong. Next to your mudblood mother and traitorous father." Druella and Cygnus seemed to realize that their browbeating would yield no results.

"Tinselle," Cassiopeia clapped commandingly, causing the timid House Elf to pop into existence. "Please send our guests back to whatever hovels they came from." Not another insult managed to escape into the air before the three enraged magicals vanished from sight. A ticking clock in the hallway filled any silence left behind.

"That was absolutely insane," Gossamer remarked with wide eyes.

"That was only your first introduction to what remains of the Black family," Cassiopeia seethed while rubbing both temples. "I need some whiskey Tinselle." The Girl-Who-Lived felt a similar urge to detach mentally from the room altogether. She instead listened to the ticking clock while fighting an urge to also ask Tinselle for an alcoholic beverage. Perhaps this was why pureblood eleven year olds seemed so fond of drinking martinis.

OOOO

Coco stepped beyond the security station with her usual amount of fashionable flair. Flowery, slightly see-through blouse, impeccably ironed white trousers, and clicky heels pulling the ensemble together. Being a famous, stunning socialite she was used to attention. Today however seemed a tad bit different. Eyes stayed on her much longer than the typical, cursory glance. Whispers were heated with both frustration and hungry speculation. Wondering what that nasty Rita Skeeter had written about now, the flapper swept flippantly into a lift. Having used the rattling contraption for so many years ensured that Coco did not lose her perpetual stability.

Pulling the Augurey feather cloak around her shoulders a bit tighter to ward off the chill, she exited. A crisp, female voice intoned 'Department of Mysteries' while onyx-black tile glittered imposingly. Glancing down at her antique watch Coco stifled an urge to groan. Part of being the second highest Unspeakable of the department was waking up at an unholy hour. No one else would be around yet which only added to the terror instilled by memories of the Shadow Man. Flipping her short hair defiantly Coco attempted to banish such thoughts from her mind.

Clicking forth confidently the Potter witch avoided the Time Room entirely as she neared her office. In the years spent at this more modern Department of Mysteries Coco finally found her knowledge and work ethic gifted with recognition. Numerous promotions meant that the witch no longer wasted away producing time turners, but was now deeply involved in all of the department's various experiments. Change was not a welcome thing, however, and the Time Traveller was well aware of her potential to become a revolutionary figure in the Ministry. "Minister Fudge," Her voice was semi-mocking, emphasizing the title, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

The repugnant man was sitting in her chair, at her own desk. Flanking him were two of the usual Auror-lapdogs 'honored' with the opportunity to guard Britain's most corrupt politician. Folding each arm elegantly over the other she leant against the frame of her office doorsill. "Marcus Sherwood passed away early this morning," Fudge declared emotionlessly, "Surely you know what that means."

For a moment her heart stopped beating. 'I did it father,' Coco thought to herself, 'I succeeded in a way you never imagined I could.' Heels clicking again the witch came to a stop only to stand against the chair across from her boss. "When will the press be informed of this news?" She asked without betraying any excitement. Minister Fudge hated her mere existence, so there was always a chance he would attempt to prevent the inevitable from occurring.

"The Prophet has already run a special, early morning edition on your presumed promotion." That explained all of the stares that morning Coco supposed. "There will need to be a speech of course. Now that you are within striking distance of my position."

At that bitter admission the Potter woman rolled both eyes despite feeling a bit surprised by his honesty. "Please, Cornelius. You and I both know that it is the DMLE heads who you should be worried about. Scrimgeour and Bones are far more likely than a Head Unspeakable to steal your job." The dismissive rebuttal caused Fudge's chin to again twist into three, angry rolls of fat. His eyes seemed about ready boggle outwards in a rather comical display of hatred.

"You and I both know that the _famous_ , Head Unspeakables prove far more...Enigmatic candidates. Plenty of promising DMLE officials have been spurned in favor of the likes of Artemisia Lufkin." He was beyond bitter, prompting Coco to worry that she would be poisoned during lunch. "Amelia Bones at least has a shred of loyalty," That chin wobbled again as he crept to a standing position. "You are nothing more than a fame-monger obsessed with pulling wool over the public's eye." Hazel eyes widening with each verbal jab the flapper found herself refraining from deigning to respond. Even Cornelius Fudge could not ruin this most momentous of occasions. With that last insult he waddled from the office with overtly forceful taps of his incredibly expensive cane.

When the last Auror slipped out she finally moved into action. Smiling broadly the flapper flicked her wand prompting everything to fly wildly about. Marching from the tiny room Coco strode excitedly across the department with all of her official possessions floating close behind. What used to be Marcus Sherwood's office opened easily enough for its new mistress. After sending his belongings into a neat stack the witch prompted her own furniture to cover the room instead. Reclining into her leather chair Coquelicot released an undignified, high pitched squeal of glee. "Am I interrupting," Asked a very haughty, very familiar, American accented voice.

"Mr. Tugwood," Coco shifted upright suddenly, glaring openly at the man standing across her new office. "You happen to lack the clearance required to be wandering the Department of Mysteries unescorted." She glared at the handsome, black-haired wizard who dared to taint what was turning into such a splendid day.

"I was hoping you could help me there, Miss. Potter," A devastatingly white smile was flashed her way. Coco was always unnerved by how easily the Wizarding diplomat managed to captivate her with his charms. Strutting forwards like a model, an early stint in his very accomplished career, Astor Tugwood invited himself to take a seat. "Tell me," He sighed while straightening his well fitted suit of the usual mulberry silk, "Where does a well-to-do lawyer take the new Head Unspeakable for lunch?"

"I have no interest in visiting whatever hellish pits of carnality you frequent," She bit back tersely, "So I recommend you celebrate on your own." Since arriving in the contemporary era Coco had found herself squaring off against some of the most despicable sorts. Astor Tugwood was perhaps the worst. That sort of man who gave a dangerous new meaning to the concept of ruthless ambition. Pureblood grandson of Sacharissa Tugwood, deceased owner of a British beauty company worth billions of Galleons, and her American-socialite husband. Dashingly handsome with all the devastating appeal of old Hollywood.

Coco herself was aware of his many achievements which, often, managed to rival her own. One of the top students to ever have graduated from Illvermorny, a champion duellist on the International Junior Duelling Convention, and a notoriously promiscuous bachelor. He modelled for several years after graduating from school until landing a job in governmental law. Fighting tooth-and-nail until finally becoming a prominent diplomat within the International Confederation of Wizards. Which inevitably led to many consequent encounters between the Tugwood heir and the object of his obsession. "Please, Coco," He chuckled in response, perfectly sculpted mandible jutting, "If anyone has an appetite for carnality it is most definitely yourself." His grey eyes glimmered hungrily, "Quite the appetite. If I recall correctly?"

"What do you want?" Coco snapped back easily, "That you are so impetuously foolish to sully what should be the greatest day of my life?"

"The greatest day of your life will be when we marry," Astor corrected with self-assured absentmindedness, "And I find myself needing a date to Garnet Fawley's annual charity function."

"When have you ever struggled to find a date for anything?" The flapper asked surprisedly, black bob flicking stylishly as a result. She noticed then how his kissable lips tugged into a handsome pout.

"Please, my sweet Coco, I have never wanted for dates" He rebutted, "I simply find myself growing tired of sampling so many wines. The perfect vintage is already sitting on the other side of this desk." Tugwood stood, retrieving something from his pocket with a graceful movement. It was tossed upon the desktop to glitter beneath the magical lights hanging overhead. "Best of luck with this new, lofty little position. I daresay your hard work has warranted a pay raise for a rather long while." He spun around, allowing her to drink in the sight of his perfectly sculpted form. Peering down at the gilded invitation to Garnet Fawley's annual charity function she emitted a sigh.

"Perhaps, Mr. Tugwood," Coco started to draw out in a hesitant manner, "I can clear up my lofty, new schedule a bit, and go as your date." His fists visibly tightened in response as he continued to march triumphantly from the Head Unspeakable's office. Leaning into her chair Coquelicot Potter smiled a bit dazedly in the afterglow of the studly entity that was Astor Tugwood. Exactly the sort of wizard that her father would have disapproved of immensely. Brazen, arrogant, inclined to unnecessary opulence, and most important, American.

OOOO

"Auntie Hilda wants for me to attend the Fawley Gala with you and Astor Tugwood," Gossamer presumed in a venturesome manner as they huddled together on her balcony. "She told me that it is an event of high enough profile to mark my entry into society." At this point those blazing, green eyes peered tauntingly in the Head Unspeakable's direction. "Would it not also test your newest beau's level of maturity? Allow him to see what it is like to be burdened with a witty, celebrity child for an evening?"

Coco chuckled vibrantly while tugging her niece into a tight, loving embrace. After pressing a fond peck on the girl's cheek she spoke, "Mr. Tugwood is the wittiest man I know. The day he cannot fend you off is the day the sun rises from the west." Her fingers clenched more possessively at remembering the first thing Gossamer said. "Gunnhilda knows nothing. When you enter society it will be the grandest event of this century. We will host a ball fit for a queen, and then perhaps travel to the world's greatest cities so that you can meet an army of exotic suitors. Your coming of age will be befitting of an heiress to two, maybe three, Houses, and so much more than either Gunnhilda or myself got."

"She also says that you will be the next Minister for Magic," The Girl-Who-Lived whispered in response, "I can hardly ignore something I agree with."

"Me?" Coco sniffed indignantly, "I get promoted to Head Unspeakable and she already has her mind set that I could beat someone like Amelia Bones or Rufus Scrimgeour." The flapper flicked her short hair about with more than a little bit of derision. "What even qualifies me for such a position."

"The fact that Cornelius Fudge is a fool," Gossamer responded sternly, "And Wizarding Britain cannot tolerate his corrupt ineptitude any longer. Nor would anyone in their right mind pick Amelia Bones over you! The famous time traveller, who never would have allowed Fudge to become Minister for Magic in the first place." Coco remained quiet as she listened to the precocious child articulate her thoughts. A more sinister light entered that green gaze, "We all must sacrifice things for the sake of our House. We all must do things that we never anticipated ever having to consider."

Arms tightening further around the eleven year old her tone of voice became quite parental. "Is that why Cygnus Black confronted me in the middle of the Ministry today?" The older witch asked, though not in a reprimanding manner. Her niece seemed to grow uncharacteristically quiet as a result of the unexpected question. "You need to realize that men like Cygnus Black are dangerous. Yes, Goss, you are already shaping up into a formidable little politician, but Cassiopeia Black and Gunnhilda are pushing far too fast." Ruby fingernails wound reassuringly into the child's waves of golden blonde, "You will go to Hogwarts, make powerful friends, and prove yourself the next wizarding prodigy of Britain. I will deal with the Black inheritance, so long as you promise to steer clear of such things for now."

"I will agree to that," Gossamer conceded, "But only if _you_ promise to at least consider running for Fudge's position in the next few years." After verbally promising the other they leant closer again, enjoying how the wards around Gamp Townhouse allowed any onlookers to peer at the stars through the London smog. Enjoying how close they were to one another in that moment.

OOOO

Albus Dumbledore often found himself suffering at the hands of changed loyalties and shunted neutralities. When one grew to the Headmaster's uncommon age they experienced many changes in the political landscape. Friends became foes, foes became friends, independent parties grew involved only to become the worst, possible adversaries ever conceived. Despite his vast library of experiences in such matters nothing seemed quite so unprecedented as the Potter-Gamp coalition. Coquelicot Potter, the famed Time Traveller, and her sister-in-law, Gunnhilda Gamp. Individually he could have smattered them easily, so that Gossamer Potter could be placed back with the Dursleys where she belonged. Unfortunately they seemed almost unstoppable, and any potential attempt to halt their grasp for power would certainly prove a war of attrition.

"My cousin, Cassiopeia, is attempting to use Gossamer Potter as a tool to assert her influence over House Black," Cygnus explained to his former Transfiguration professor, who already knew. "I hoped that-."

"That I would assist _you_?" Dumbledore sneered, with twinkling eyes. "Your House rightfully rests upon the edge of ruin. A half-blood rearing up to claim it as part of her inheritance. Were you so foolish to believe that I would actually help to save it?" Here he paused to stroke his Phoenix's beak in a contemplative manner, "Gossamer Potter, despite her recent independence, shall prove far more capable at ruling House Black than Draco Malfoy ever will. You can leave these grounds now, Cygnus." The man seemed to be stricken with horrified disbelief. He was unable to rise to the level of making mutinous threats, however, for a House Elf soon arrived to forcibly escort him away.

In the sudden silence the Headmaster of Hogwarts allowed himself to step over to the Pensieve. He contemplated playing one of his most precious memories over again, yet knew it would do nothing more than throw him into a mood. No matter how many times Dumbledore looked at the reel of images of Gossamer Potter's Wand Choosing Ceremony, there were no weaknesses to be found. She was a true lady with Gunnhilda Gamp's notoriously orthodox views clearly drilled into her head. Furthermore, there was nothing but levelheaded intelligence to be observed in eavesdropped conversations between herself and such people as Minister Fudge. Unless drastic steps were to be taken the Potter-Gamp heiress would never regress into what Britain needed. A political pawn that could be used in all of the right ways. The most powerful of weapons in his arsenal when Voldemort did indeed return to prominence.

It was time to plot the, somewhat heavy-handed, removal of Gunnhilda Gamp and Coquelicot Potter from this picture.

OOOO

Sorry this took so long! College has been such a handful, but that doesn't mean I am giving up on my fanfics…


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Haute Couture.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.

OOOO

Gossamer sat inside of Gamp Townhouse the morning of Garnet Fawley's Charity Gala. Watching with no small amount of envy as Coco was fitted for the event. Even though they were not inside of a fashion house, and instead in the privacy of their own home, the girl still could not express how unfair she found it all. That she could already dance an effortless waltz, tango, and samba in order without cracking a single breath at eleven, but was still not allowed to attend. The pretty seamstresses might have been tipped a pretty coin by House Potter for their troubles, yet the Daily Prophet would surely tip more for any childish protestations which might slip from the heiress's mouth. So, she reclined quietly on her aunt's sunny balcony in a lounge chair. Uncommonly long legs soaking in the golden hue of summer.

Peeking inside occasionally the young witch would catch glimpses of Coco billowing about in flattering gowns. The flapper was praised often by the fashion columnists of British newspapers for her unique style. From what Gossamer could see that evening would be no exception, with her aunt embracing that same 1920's flair which dripped with modern panache. Then in the blink of an eye Coco would dance back behind the changing screen prompting the girl's attention back to her daily chore. Several weeks after the fact she was _still_ sending letters of thanks to the guests of her Wand Choosing Ceremony. Both for their mere attendance and the pile of presents she and Glimpa were still struggling to sort. Always present in the back of her head was the nagging reminder that such tedious courtesy paled in comparison to some of the other ceremonies which awaited her. A coming-of-age ball and her seventeenth birthday chief amongst them.

She allowed a finger to dangle so it could gently caress the wand holstered to her left wrist. Perhaps, the Girl-Who-Lived conceded mentally, she would be pleasantly surprised when push finally came to shove. So with a gentle smile Gossamer decided to ignore the desire she harbored to attend Garnet Fawley's Charity Gala. One day she would be able to go to even fancier social extravaganzas, and then Gossamer would prove herself a worthy heiress. For an hour more the Potter girl worked on her pile of letters prior to finishing.

By the time Coco was done purchasing her expensive, new wardrobe the girl was buried deep in a book of American Herbology. Gunnhilda had noted long ago that the girl had a natural gift, well beyond a talent, for Herbology. According to the older witch Americans were far more advanced in Potions and Herbology. So a steady stream of books written by Herbologists from across the pond steadily flowed into Gossamer's personal library. The girl already anticipated that she would do the same sort of thing when it came to her other subjects. Britain was very much a shade of its former prestige in the realm of magical innovations. Mostly because brilliant muggleborns, sickened at being treated like second-class citizens, had been immigrating steadily to other countries.

"Darling," Her more motherly aunt announced after reentering the room from sending the army of seamstresses back to their various fashion houses. "Don't you want to see the dress I am going to wear this evening?" Gossamer shut the hefty book eagerly prior to slipping back inside of her aunt's luxurious chambers. She would have released a squeal of excitement if such behavior were not what Gunnhilda would disapprovingly labelled, 'Unbefitting of an heiress to two Houses.' Coquelicot Potter stood before the vanity squeezing a spritz of her trademark narcissus oil perfume. Clad in a pastel-green gown of the airiest silk the girl had ever seen. A pair of Gucci heels were revealed slightly as her aunt moved to wrap a cloak, of the same color and fabric as the dress, about her elegant neck. It swept about the floor in a manner reminiscent to a train.

Glimpa appeared without even being summoned, such was her typically efficient style. Cradled in the House Elf's arms was the massive chasset of Potter jewelry. "Thank you Glimpa," Coco smiled earnestly at the Gamp family servant. Much to Gossamer's relief her aunt had professed a disliking for the enslavement of House Elves several years earlier. Without pause the gorgeous woman reached inside for a slight amount of time before turning around again. Now a necklace of pink diamonds glittered about that lovely neck while thickly banded silver bracelets dangled strikingly on her aunt's slender wrists. "How do I look, girls?" The flapper queried in a confident manner, "Will Astor Tugwood have a heart attack when he sees me?"

Gossamer was far too gob smacked by the impressive scene to answer in the affirmative. "Yes," Glimpa answered articulately, "Astor Tugwood will certainly be impressed, Madam Potter." They all then made their way together down the steps to the luxurious fireplace meant for travelling. The Girl-Who-Lived was drawn into a swift hug before Coco pressed a sweet kiss to her head. Then in a flash of emerald-green she watched her enviably beautiful great-aunt disappear for a night of dancing and passion. Both Glimpa and the young witch would have spent the night staring at the empty air left behind by Coquelicot Potter if Gunnhilda had not appeared from behind.

"Glimpa," The crone somewhat dismissively addressed the House Elf, "You will help my niece dress swiftly for another event this evening." Gossamer now spotted that her other aunt was dressed in elegant garb. A headdress of feathers spouted off of the witch's silver head and she looked every bit the matriarch of a pureblood dynasty. Without prompting the Gamp woman swept forth gracefully to where her baffled niece struggled to formulate words. Vestiges of the beauty Gunnhilda once possessed flickered about against the marble entry chamber. She paused and reached upwards to gently caress Gossamer's astonished face. "Coquelicot will be too preoccupied with Astor Tugwood to protest what we must accomplish tonight. As we speak Cassiopeia is no doubt already welcoming Rita Skeeter, and many other guests, into her residence for an intimate fete."

"The interview!" Gossamer exclaimed suddenly, already comprehending her aunt's plans. Recalling how Gunnhilda had already arranged some sort of interview with the Daily Prophet. She, along with Cassiopeia and Lucretia, were plotting to spirit her away to some luxurious event. One filled with cameras and prominent society columnists like Rita Skeeter. A move that would certainly provide them with the support of wizarding Britain in securing House Black's full inheritance. "I _knew_ you gave in too soon to Coco," Her voice was uncertain, as going along with such a cunning scheme would break the promise she made to her other aunt.

"We will, of course, one day host an official societal debut for you like nothing ever seen in Britain before," Gunnhilda grinned sneakily. "But you are too talented, too ambitious and clever to be locked away entirely until that moment. I refuse to let an heiress of your worth, _my_ heiress, wither away beneath anonymity. Tonight we will catch the eye of Britain, and you will fight for what is rightfully yours." All the acquiescent contentment Gossamer had mentally embraced while watching Coco dress in those ravishing outfits flooded away easily enough. She would go to Cassiopeia's extravaganza, and all of Wizarding Britain would be forced to take note. Sensing that her niece would go willingly along with this turn of events, Gunnhilda called for Snitty.

He appeared a split second later carrying a delightfully green gown. So deep a green that it almost matched the vibrancy of Gossamer's eyes. "Snitty has altered Madam Gamp's Givenchy evening gown to match Miss Potter-Gamp's measurements." The Elf looked absolutely tickled at this turn of events as well. No doubt he simply enjoyed that they were defying Coco's orders.

"Excellent," Gunnhilda returned to her haughty, dignified self, "Now you shall get ready for the evening. I want her looking perfect Glimpa, not a hair out of pla-." Thankfully the House Elf apparated them upwards to Gossamer's Gryffindor-themed chambers right as Gunnhilda started to snap in their direction.

OOOO

Coco giggled sharply as Astor Tugwood jerked her about sharply to a jazzy tune. They were the fastest, most talented pair on the floor which was certainly no surprise. Almost as soon as they stood to dance a competition started between them. Both silently trying to prove themself faster, more coordinated than the other. Unsurprisingly even that challenge almost proved itself to also end with a stalemate given that Astor had been a top Quodpot player in school just like Coco had been Quidditch Captain. At least until a vicious kneecapping attack by a bat-wielding Slytherin ended any professional dreams. That dormant injury now also resulted in the Head Unspeakable losing her match of dancing talent with the American diplomat as well.

"What's wrong, Potter," He smiled charmingly as they scuttled back to their prominent seating arrangements, "Did my rumba leave you feeling breathless."

"You always leave me breathless," The flapper admitted easily enough, secretly somewhat happy for her wonky kneecap. Men liked to feel confident, powerful, and influential. Cat-and-mouse games were always fun, but Coco knew well enough that she lacked the corresponding weakness. At least the injury, for all the disappointment it had caused, reminded her to escalate the level of intimacy at which she flirted with the handsome suitor. She swept into the seat which Astor gallanty pulled out for her, admiring his expensive robes as he himself sat down.

What was surely going to be a suave retort cut itself short of his lips as they both began to snicker at a most unfortunate sight. Eros Goyle, spinster great-aunt of the Gregory Goyle Sr., wore a monstrous gown that looked as though it belonged from the Regency era. While that style of clothing was still popular enough in Wizarding Britain, it was mostly the plunging, plaid neckline which set them to laughter. "Those Goyle women love to think themselves more cunning than they actually are." Coco remarked quietly to Astor, "She approached me at a Ministry Ball several years ago. Had the audacity to suggest that my niece be betrothed to her nephew's youngest son. 'As fitting a match as any halfblood could hope for'."

The Tugwood heir snorted derisively at that. "From my dealings with the Goyles I wouldn't wish a marriage to their bloodline upon my worst enemy." His grey eyes zoned away from the embarrassing spectacle to a recently arrived Amelia Bones. "Blegh," Astor leant forth to whisper into Coco's ear, the action causing a pleasant shiver to roll over her spine. "Some American businessman mistook a few Hags for prostitutes in Diagon Alley yesterday. The damage was unbelievable. I never want to argue with that one again." A duo of Banshee performers moved to the center of room as the pair spoke. The beautiful noises which followed left Coco feeling warm and safe.

Pausing mentally for a moment on the thought of the American businessman's questionable sexual preferences, she turned to him. "Was her temper truly that foul?" Many influential Ministry employees had proven quite disenchanted with the news of Coco's promotion in the past week. The potentiality of a new rival vying for the Ministership was an obvious reason to sink into the fogs of misery. Especially when that rival happened to be a world famous, time travelling intellectual with many enviable accomplishments beneath her belt. Coco simply found it surprising that the morally sound DMLE Head would prove so sullen about such a development. Though it always could have been a mere coincidence. Beautiful ballerinas appeared from what seemed like thin air. Streams of silvery light followed the group as they danced around the singers.

"Immensely so," He sighed miserably, "She almost killed me with that glare of h-." The blood splattered almost before Coco even recognized what had even happened. Hot, red, and staining her previously gorgeous gown. A stranger, some nameless socialite, slumped headfirst against the circular table while an arrow composed of magical energy fizzled to nothingness from her awkwardly bent neck. "Aqua eructo!" Astor bellowed whilst leaping to his feet nimbly, Coco watched a jettison of fearsome flames matched his tidal wave of water head on. The table cracked to blackened cinders. Loud screams replaced the lovely music which had been playing only moments earlier. Five of the ten ballerinas were directing a powerful barrage of attacks in various directions.

Guests dying left and right, Coco watched with horror as one of the few Aurors assigned to the high-profile event was struck by a _Killing Curse._ Fingers reaching desperately up her dress she withdrew her wand swiftly enough to deflect a _Smashing Hex_ sent in Astor's direction. Across the ballroom Amelia Bones used some obscure spell to cause a ballerina-assassin's head to explode into jagged bits of skull. What followed was a fierce duel between her and two more of the four remaining foes. In what was clearly a lucky moment they managed to send the DMLE Head flying backwards at least twenty feet onto the polished flooring. Coco wasted no time filling in the vacuum left by Bones in the duel.

With a nonverbal swipe of her wand the wooden planks about the ballerinas all began to violently shred themselves upwards. One of the less proficient duellists out of the group stumbled in response. Astor quickly hit her with a _Cutting Charm_ in response prompting the woman's side to explode outwards at a sickening speed. Coco followed his expert choice of spell up with an _Entrail-Expelling Curse._ Every single innard the ballerina could offer was blown sideways upon the broken floor. Unfortunately the remaining, incredibly angry, three were not as easy to catch off guard. A loud series of whizzing pops and bangs were exchanged as Coco and Astor fought in tandem. She finally managed to skewer another one with a barrage of the scattered silverware summoned from the floor when Astor fell.

Another arrow spiralled through the prior to ripping into the American's right side. In her fury Coco shot a powerful stunner right into the face of one of the last two ballerinas. Overturning the burnt table so that it would act as a temporary barrier she began to tend desperately to Astor's wounds. Looking at him now the Potter witch realized with dread that he also had an awful cut on his midsection as well. Every bit of flesh around the severe wound was blackened by Dark magic. The tainted blood was rushing so fast, far too fast for her to handle. She might have been one of Britain's top Charm's Mistresses, but Coco's specialty had mostly ignored Healing Magic. Only one vague fail-safe approach to dealing with such severe blood loss popped into her head, yet it was risky. A _Stasis Charm_ could be applied like a bubble to the wound though it required the patient to have a specific heartbeat.

Hissing nervously Coco worked some of the darkest magic she ever considered casting. A foul incantation, an equally foul action, and a wicked waving of her wand made it possible to in turn cast the _Stasis Charm_. As it surrounded like a bubble across his damaged torso the witch realized something. The sounds of battle were significantly quietened. Peering above the table she noted that the psychotic ballerinas had finished off the last of their opponents. Any Aurors and guests who had posed a threat were lying incapacitated on the blood-slickened floors while all of the other guests were long fled. She watched the two send _Killing Curses_ into the prone forms of their fallen comrades. Doubtlessly it was to ensure no torture methods employed by the Hit Wizards could obtain any useful information.

Steeling herself mentally she glanced at Astor's pale face. Allowing a soothing hand to caress his now stoney, freezing cold cheek. He was perhaps the best man that Coco had ever involved herself with. Handsome, intelligent, ambitious, funny, and even willing to fight alongside her against a botched assassination attempt. Fingers tightening around the wand her hazel eyes narrowed as she prepared one of her signature duelling moves. A bolt of wild electricity screamed towards the wary foes. Only one managed to produce a sufficiently encompassing shield while the other was sent into a violent seizure. The final assassin launched the remaining cracks of electricity flying back in Coco's direction before moving to flee. Teeth grinding in rage at such cowardice the woman struggled to dissipate the conjured, miniature storm of lightning.

Then she launched into a swift pursuit. Her cumbersome heels dissipated to nothingness with the briefest flick of a wand. Soon enough Coco had her prey cornered just outside of the entrance to Garnet Fawley's ballroom. A cowering crowd of formerly haughty aristocrats pinned the bitch on one side, while Coco stood on the other. The ballerina released a massive, powerful variant of the _Banishing Charm_ which sent the crowd behind her scattering backwards violently. With the greater threat handled the assassin lashed out at Coco with a rapid _Leg-Locker Curse_ which caught the woman off guard. Hobbling gracelessly the Head Unspeakable watched with horror as her wand was wrenched high into the air.

"Ready to finally die? You time travelling whore?" The ballerina asked in a booming, venomous tone. Coco watched as that wand started to slash downwards angrily across the air. Preparing to end her life. In that moment a girl named Gossamer flashed into her devastated mind's eye. She was most _assuredly_ not prepared to leave her precious darling, daughter in all-but-name, for the cold embrace of death. Not with such dangerous foes lurking in every corner.

That stream of thoughts were what allowed Coquelicot Potter to twist her fingers in a flowery, desperate series of motions. Snarling animalistically at the effort of such a feat she summoned the magic forth. "CONFRINGO," The former duelling champion watched as that extraordinary _Blast Curse_ roared forwards loud as a jet. Any pain from the consequent blistering of her hands faded away in favor of glee. Her would-have-been assassin was thrown backwards into the floor by a brilliant blast of blue light. Exhausted from her efforts Coco fell backwards with both legs twisting awkwardly. Hazel eyes forced to stare forth into the formerly elegant ballroom which now seemed to be the seventh pit of hell.

"I owe Garnet Fawley _royally,_ " She groaned exasperatedly, already wondering how big of a donation would be required to compensate for such grandscale carnage.

OOOO

For only the second time in her life Gossamer cavorted about a beautiful, sprawling home while tittering elegantly with all manner of individuals. Compliments abounded profusely over her newest dress while the two photographers present incessantly snapped blindingly bright photos. Despite the dancing black spots which refused to go away she whirled about endlessly. The girl kept in mind, however, that things could have been far more uncomfortable. Cassiopeia and Lucretia only until quite recently kept themselves firmly entrenched in the company of blood purist circles. Now that they had been partially excommunicated for challenging Cygnus's claim it seemed as though the guest list were much exclusive than it might have been.

Gossamer was also quite clever enough to recognize that _she_ was the main draw. Wizards and witches who typically defaulted to Dumbledore's side in Wizengamot matters were there to see the Girl-Who-Lived. Influential muggleborns who might previously have not contemplated fraternizing with anyone from House Black eagerly shook her hand by the dozen. Even some celebrities with reputations which rivalled her own were present. All packed tightly together inside of an ancient, Black-owned manor that sat upon a beach on the Isle of Wight. A luxurious abode which served as a constant reminder that if she managed to yield the Black cousins new allies it might one day be her own residence. Inspired by this realization Gossamer Potter-Gamp, Black would also be tacked on that lengthy surname soon enough, practically exuded charisma. Leaving a group of old wizards cackling in uproarious laughter, socialite gossip mongers tittering approvingly, and intellectuals hmm-ing approvingly. This effortless socialization carried her through the entire first hour of the party.

Until she met Horace Slughorn.

"You are so like her," He remarked amazedly from his roost beside the beverage table.

"Pardon, sir?" She asked pleasantly while turning around gracefully to address the stranger.

"Thos-," The man choked with a sad emotion marking his face before pausing as though collecting . Gazing with an odd intensity into her eyes. "Horace Slughorn," He introduced himself with a sudden pompousness prior to shaking her hand, "Former Potion's Master of Hogwarts." Those gooseberry-colored eyes observed Gossamer with what could only have been described as greed.

"You must have taught my parents, Mr. Slughorn" She ventured demurely. Gossamer loved to hear stories of her parents, as it seemed most who knew them were staunchly allied with Dumbledore, or brutally murdered.

He smiled abashedly, "Your mother was my favorite student. I have yet to come across another human being so compassionate, dedicated, and decent. That goes without even mentioning her talents in Potions and Charms. " A thoughtful furrow wrinkled his brow as he peered speculatively at Gossamer. "James Potter was quite the student as well. A Transfiguration prodigy, he was, and I always reckoned he would be the one to replace Minerva McGonagall." Slughorn nodded in her direction, "Do you have any particular interests yet, Miss Potter?"

"Gossamer is a talented Quidditch player," Cassiopeia came from behind, surprising the girl for the second time. "Gunnhilda Gamp has also told me that she has a way with all manner of plants. Quite the Herbologist." The old man standing next to the Black witch seemed quite familiar, and Slughorn recognized him somehow. "Let me introduce my colleague, Newton Scamander, to you both," She nodded at him, "You already know Professor Slughorn, of course." A possessive arm wrapped tightly around Gossamer's elbow, "Let me formally introduce you to Gossamer Potter-Gamp. The newest addition to House Black, our shining star."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss. Potter," Newt Scamander grinned with his widely renowned awkwardness.

"Likewise, Mr. Scamander," She reached forth to shake his hand. "I must tell you how much I appreciate your contributions to the preservation of both magical and non-magical animals. To think my generation could have been born in a world without dragons, or Demiguise had you not shown so much responsibility." That was only half-true. Gossamer was well aware of his failed Werewolf Register which had been allowed to sink into corruption, and resulted in much ostracization of many helpless Lycanthropes.

"An appreciation for magical creatures and Herbology?" Slughorn smiled genially at his former students, "I daresay Miss. Potter-Gamp will be one of the most accomplished witches of her age." He sniffed righteously, "I do happen to have a nose for such things."'

Unsure of what that meant Gossamer felt Cassiopeia's arm tighten closer about her shoulders. The four of them conversing around a sort of invisible topic that the girl could not put a finger on. Then finally she was pulled away to isolation by the Black witch. "You made an excellent impression, girl," Those brown eyes shined, that greying-black hair whipped excitedly about. "I intend to arrange the greatest assembly of internships a child could ever dream of. Newt owes me a favor, Horace Slughorn will be only too happy to 'collect' you, and I could even get Bathilda Bagshot, or some hotshot Auror into the mix!" Gossamer felt her mouth almost drop at the idea of spending a summer with such prodigious intellectuals.

"Of course," The Magizoologist nodded to herself somewhat, "We will have to have another event, even bigger, over your winter holidays." Then that gaze flickered over to where Gunnhilda stood across the room, gesturing sternly at them. "That means Rita Skeeter is ready for you, Gossamer," Cassioepia crossed both arms elegantly, "I would wish you the best of luck with that lying, gossip mongering bloodclaat. But you will be a full-fledged Black soon, and you should know now that luck has a habit of avoiding our ilk nowadays." With that inspiring bit of wisdom she marched away to commingle with all of Gossamer's admirers. Leaving the girl to face her first ever meeting with Rita Skeeter.

An interview which could either win her public support and House Black, or nothing at all.

OOOO

Okay, I am literally just doing a ton of rocket science this semester. Just math and science all day long. As a result you can expect that my updates will be slow-coming. Like always, however, I can assure you that they will keep rolling out. One at a time. Please review, and tell me what you think. This was a super long chapter, and it probs has a ton of grammatical errors...


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Ten: Turning Points.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.

OOOO

Gossamer felt an absolute mess as she hurried alongside Gunnhilda through St. Mungos. The girl's golden hair hung unbraided in wild waves about her waist while her perpetually dirt-stained hands were tightly clenched. Gunnhilda managed to look somewhat more refined despite the suddenness of their visit. That could only have been expected, however, for Gossamer had been tending to her gardens when the Daily Prophet was delivered. Where she had been expecting the interview with Rita Skeeter to be front-and-center, Garnet Fawley's disastrous gala had been instead. Of course, this all meant that the Shrivelfig bush still needed tending, but that was hardly as important as finding Coco alive.

"Take us to Coquelicot Potter at once!" Gunnhilda snapped at a kind-looking woman.

"That is not how this ward works, madam," The Healer rebutted firmly, "I will need identity verification, and there are documents to be signed."

"Do you know who I am?" Gunnhilda was clearly outraged, anger blazing in her usually calm eyes. "Do you know how much I donate to St. Mungos every Christmas?"

"Donations generally do not equate to ownership. At least, not in civilized societies." Her chin pointed outwards, pretty eyes refusing to budge an inch.

Instead of another chaotic jibe Gossamer's aunt seemed to gain a look of recognition. "Andromeda Black," She smiled wider than the Cheshire Cat, "I almost failed to recognize you. It has been such a long time since you were last in society after all." Here the crone leant firmly against her knotted cane, "My memory often fails me. Was it a muggleborn, or a half-blood?" Gossamer felt quite uncomfortable at having come to the conclusion that this was one of Cygnus Black's three daughters. Perhaps Coco had been smothered in her sleep by a vengeful Black all because her rebellious niece had proven recklessly power hungry.

"It is Andromeda Tonks. I will never be a Black again." The Healer was still as reserved as ever, though now there was clearly a crack in her formerly impenetrable facade.

"That hardly answers the question, Andromeda Tonks," Gunnhilda was radiating smugness at her triumph.

"I am sorry for the trouble, Healer Tonks," Gossamer interjected sharply over any incoming retorts, "But I only read the Daily Prophet just now. Is my aunt in a coma, or not?"

The witch's face crinkled softly, "Madam Potter was personally healed by my most talented underling. She has been carefully watching over her fiance since last night." That surprised the girl immensely though she was too smart to betray any shock. Coco had doubtlessly combined that lie with her Ministerial status to void the familial rule. "Room 38 B," Andromeda Tonks informed her curtly, prior to glaring at Gunnhilda, "Please remember that this is meant to be a quiet setting."

Infuriated with her Gamp aunt's useless war of words Gossamer marched ahead faster than the shrew could keep up. Thinking one's only remaining family were dead was a horrifying prospect. All she needed in that moment was to hold Coco in both arms and sob it all out. True to thought, when the Girl-Who-Lived arrived inside of 38 B she was enveloped in a bone crushing hug. "The Daily Prophet said you were mortally wounded! If I ever get my wand pointed at that reporter!" Gossamer cut herself short when they separated.

Astor Tugwood was completely frozen with several magical bubbles protruding off of his body. Whatever caused the nasty scrapes on Coco's body had done a worse number on her newest beau. "Someone sent a troupe of assassins to that party, Hilda," The flapper did not sound like her typically mischievous self. This shaken young woman sounded terrified. "I barely-," They began to whisper so low that Gossamer could hardly hear their conversation, "Petrified him-, Blackest magic-,-most murdered by a ballerina!"

Gunnhilda remained silent for a very long moment as her only two relatives stared desperately in her direction. "Our family has clearly been prey to a monstrously daring attack," The crone nodded mostly to herself, "One that cannot, must not, go unpunished. Either orchestrated by Dumbledore, or Cygnus Black's band of psychotic relatives."

"Or," Coco gritted out an addendum, "One of my blood purist admirers at the Ministry of Magic."

"Nonetheless, we must come out stronger than ever," Gunnhilda croaked sternly, "Gossamer's interview with Rita Skeeter will be coming out in the evening. After all of this unpleasantness ha-."

"Interview?" Coco nearly screamed, "I _knew_ I never should have left her alone with you last night. With _Rita Skeeter_ of all things!"

"I proved myself more than capable of holding out against her antics," Gossamer finally exploded outwards in a severely clipped tone. "You always act like I am some child, Auntie Coco, but I never was! The second Dumbledore left me on Privet Drive my childhood ceased to exist. Both of you do, honestly! Whispering as though I am not entitled to know who might be trying to murder us all off." Gunnhilda with all her worldly wisdom seemed to recognize what was about to happen and tried to stop it.

Coco, however, immediately bit into the situation with fangs crafted from venomous rage. "You are a child Gossamer Potter! No matter how much Gunnhilda has brainwashed you into thinking yourself prepared for all of this." Hazel eyes flashed furiously, "This naive, dare I say idiotic, confidence that you are prepared for everything to come is what ruins Houses. What gives Dumbledore, and the Blacks reason to salivate greedily whenever they catch sight of your name in the Daily Prophet. A manipulable child icon, not even stepped a toe in Hogwarts yet, who imagines some clever words are enough to fill her overtly large britches." Heels clicked sharply as the flapper smartly towards her unusually tall niece. Gentle fingers forcibly tipped Gossamer's chin towards Astor Tugwood's sickbed. "We are not muggles, Goss," Coco whispered ferociously in her ear, "When you inevitably ruffle the wrong feathers this is the sort of thing that will happen. Look at him and tell me if you are ready for this. Capable of truly defending yourself from that threat."

"Our niece will be more than you ever were, Coquelicot," Gunnhilda finally interrupted, "She must be-."

Here Gossamer simply continued to stare at Astor Tugwood's battered, petrified face. 'I will become the best witch Hogwarts has ever seen,' She promised herself mentally, 'And then they will finally shut up.'

OOOO

 **Two Weeks Later**

Gossamer felt herself flash onto the bustling scene of Platform 9 ¾ two weeks after. Suitcase on hand, Coco's elbow wrapped elegantly about her own. "Promise you will make sure Snitty weeds the garden regularly," She snapped with sudden anxiousness when Gunnhilda had appeared behind them. "And make sure h-."

"-Spreads the Mooncalf dung and Dragon dung evenly with the bottomsoil." The Head Unspeakable answered back in a humourless tone. "If I hear you talk about those dratted plants again this will be our last trip to King Cross together…"

"Leave the girl alone," Gunnhilda chortled, "At least she has hobbies to keep her occupied. When we attended Hogwarts together all you ever did was duel Slytherin boys and date professors."

"You dated a Hogwarts faculty member?" Gossamer gasped incredulously after almost dropping her trunk. All of the, already watchful eyes given their level of celebrity presence, perked wider. The flapper simply rolled those hazel eyes until Gunnhilda looked away. With a flippant flick of that short bob she mouthed the words, 'One time'. Already missing this banter Gossamer felt emotion rise in her throat like bile. Choking all the air out. Threatening to provoke tears at being away from her aunts for the first time since being rescued from the Dursleys. She would be so terribly alone again.

"Goss," Coco Potter smiled fondly, reaching up to stroke at the child's Gamp-blonde hair, "You are the love of my life. Four years ago I found myself stuck in the future with no prospects. But you became everything to me." She was tugged into a deep hug by her younger aunt. "Just please don't get sorted into Slytherin. You would be the first Potter in generations to not be a Gryffindor!" That little joke brought joyful tears to the young witch's eyes.

Stepping back the willowy, tall girl regarded Gunnhilda Gamp with as much elegance as could be mustered. Hugs were rare between them, but this was certainly to be the exception. Refraining from rushing into the embrace she felt the crone's fragile arms wrap as tightly as possible around her shoulders. A fond peck on Goss's right cheek prompted them both to separate halfway. "I expect you to be in the top of your class by the end of this semester, Gossamer Potter-Gamp. The Witches' League also mandates that you be involved in extracurricular activities to become eligible for membership this December." A pause, "Remember to correspond with Cassiopeia regularly-."

"Stop being such a simpering tosspot and tell the girl you love her! Who knows how many winters you have left. If even that Hilda!" Coco's inflamed interruption seemed to rattle Gunnhilda's protective barrier of courtesies.

"I love you Gossamer," Cornflower-blue eyes peered into twin wells of vibrant green, "More than you could ever know. Now please, remember everything we taught you. Show Hogwarts that House Potter and House Gamp are still forces to be respected." Several more embraces followed before the Girl-Who-Lived was forced to stumble gracelessly through a crowd of sobbing parents. Tossing rivers of golden hair back she slipped onto the train, feeling quite magical while passing through large clouds of roiling, white steam. Finding an empty compartment she was quick to lean out of the window in search of her aunts.

Gunnhilda stood with the haughty airiness of a bygone era, at least by muggle standards it was. Beside her Coco smoked a cigarette with a plainly teary face. Even if they had been fighting for the jugular with one another since the assassination attempt there was still love. Love that could never be taken away by a simple little spat. Squeaking roars sounded as the Hogwarts Express slowly chugged into motion. Gossamer Potter, painfully aware of the poorly disguised photographers nearby, steeled herself for a final photogenic moment. Pausing to wipe away tears she pushed herself to lean gracefully from the window to wave elegantly at her only real relatives. Until everything had vanished from sight.

Huffing down into the seat she stared at her Jobberknoll who stared quietly from its ornate cage. "Just the two of us now, I suppose," Gossamer smiled nervously. Plants had always been her forte and the Dursleys never kept pets when she was with them. "I never named you, did I?" The vibrant eleven-year-old girl wondered aloud to herself. Contemplating that simple matter Gossamer turned to the two books meant to keep her occupied during the train ride. There was _Elementary Intricacies of Metal Working_ by Gerard Chaudron. He was the owner of the largest cauldron company in the Wizarding World, and the Girl-Who-Lived had more than a little bit of a hopeless crush on the renowned, French intellect. Lying atop that tome, however, was _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling.

"That is what I shall name you," The Potter-Gamp heiress smiled brightly, "Adalbert. So delightfully ancient, and undeniably adorable at the same time." With that declaration she turned back to annotating the copy of _Magical Theory_ with a set of muggle pens and highlighters. Quills were required to write letters to uppity purebloods, but Gossamer preferred embracing her mother's muggle roots very much when it came to studying.

"Would you like anything from the trolley dea-," A kindly woman pushing a trolley of sweets was cut off loudly after just barely announcing herself.

"Of course not," The same blonde who had been present at Gossamer's Wand Crafting Ceremony was back. "If Miss Potter-Gamp is half the Lady I expect her to be she will be looking after her figure of course." Arctic-blue eyes gleamed predatorily as the other witch brushed passed a very flabbergasted trolley attendant. "Wingardium leviosa," The expensive, not quite so much as Gossamer's though, trunk was levitated up into its proper spot on the overhead. Quite sure her mouth was dropped wide open from the shock of seeing an untrained First Year manage such a spell she tried to remain cool. "The Witches' League greatly prefers their young members to have trim figures. You would not want to wind up like Marnie Bagnold, no?"

Uncertain of what was happening to cause her quiet little bubble to be so violently ruptured, Gossamer turned to the trolley cart attendant defiantly. "I will take the lot, madam," She grinned impishly, "Surely exceptions can certainly be made on special occasions such as this?" Soon surrounded by mounds of candy the Girl-Who-Lived found herself staring across the compartment at the obviously pureblood debutante. "Might I be given the sublime honor of knowing your name?" Gossamer asked in a steely tenor. The girl absolutely refused to wind up wondering profusely about her uninvited companion's identity again.

"Tsk-tsk," The dirty-blonde smirked chidingly, "You are far behind on your societal introductions. To not recognize that you are sitting before a _Parkinson_?"

"I am expected to believe that _you_ are Pansy Parkinson?" Green eyes roved shrewdly over the stranger's features. "Everyone knows that girl is particularly unattractive with _black hair_ to boot. No way could I believe you are quite near inbred enough to be a Parkinson."

"Splendid," Icy-blue gazed inquisitively in Gossamer's direction, "Not quite so far behind as I had assumed." A well-manicured hand was shot out in the Potter-Gamp's direction as she stood from her seat. "My name is Daphne Greengrass." An unimpressed harrumph sounded in Gossamer's throat at that declaration. Legs crossing, hands propping defensively into the seat beneath her, Daphne sneered arrogantly, "Your wizarding influence was rumoured to have been quite… Socially liberal. Tell me that some old feud between my bloodline and the Gamps won't sully such a glorious reputation of tolerance."

"Tolerance does not mean blind trust. Why on earth would you want anything to do with me at all?" Green eyes glimmered speculatively, "How did you even manage to gain an invitation to my Wand Crafting Ceremony?"

"Trust is earned, yes. But I also only share my motivations with those that I trust. So hopefully you are clever enough to make many deductions, or incredibly patient." Posture relaxing she tossed her head loosely with closed eyes into the sunlight which poured through the window. "As for the other bit," A taunting tone entered that silky voice, "Cassiopeia Black invited us. Unlike Gunnhilda Gamp she is quite close with my grandfather." Suddenly those eyes peeled open to peer like daggers across the compartment. "Try to remember that you will be a Black soon, darling. Many families will ignore old feuds for that fact alone."

Deeply unsettled Gossamer almost gasped relievedly when a bushy-haired girl poked into their compartment. "Have either of you seen a toad about on the train?" Both Daphne and Gossamer shook their heads earnestly expecting her to leave soon after. Instead, a gasp of surprise, accentuated by a pair of prominent buck teeth, marked the new witch's arrival into their compartment. "Is that a Jobberknoll? I read about them in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ just last week." Then the inevitable occurred as Gossamer's scar was finally noticed. At least not quite what had been expected occurred. "Gossamer Potter? I read all about you in the _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_!"

"I get the feeling that you read quite a bit more than is healthy," Daphne snarked prompting Gossamer to glare in her direction.

"What is your name?" She asked the overly inquisitive girl. It was something Gossamer had learned many times over. Even if someone was undeniably odd they still deserved to be shown compassion. So long as they were not cruel of course.

"Hermione Granger," She answered in that same, know-it-all tone. They briefly shook hands with one another while Daphne visibly wrinkled her face at the surname. Despite whatever pureblood supremacy tripe had been drilled into her mind as an impressionable child, however, the Greengrass girl shook Hermione's hand with a welcoming smile. They talked politely for a while. Discussing Gossamer's family life as well as Hermione's muggle upbringing. That conversation easily devolved into a competition to see who knew more about their courses. Goss decided that Daphne was unarguably the best at practical magic, at least for the moment, while Hermione was slightly behind herself in terms of theoretical knowledge. Doubtlessly a mere technicality from a muggle upbringing that would be swiftly resolved upon introduction to the Hogwarts' library. Clearly, Gossamer Potter-Gamp would need to work her tail end off to meet Gunnhilda's expectations.

"I would like to be a Gryffindor," Hermione announced as they began to change. She had quite eagerly moved her trunk over to their compartment leading Gossamer to presume that people were not often friendly to the girl. "Albus Dumbledore was one, and all of the books I have read so far say he is the greatest wizard of this contemporary era." There was a thoughtful pause, "It is also somewhat foolish to me that Ravenclaw only value knowledge. What is the point of it all if you lack the bravery to pursue curiosity?"

Daphne simply looked on in amusement while closing the window screens. "I will not argue that he is not great, because he truly is," Gossamer admitted, "Though I have no intention of being sorted into Gryffindor because of that bastard. My parents were both Gryffs, and I have every intention of living up to their memories."

"Besides," Daphne grinned wryly, now clad in an impeccably ironed set of black Hogwarts robes, "Who would ever suspect the Slytherin in all-but-name of any wrongdoing. Quite an advantageous position."

"Is that the house you think you will go into, Daphne?" Hermione queried cautiously, "Slytherin?"

"Perhaps," The pretty Greengrass shrugged her shoulders loosely, "If I were not my parents would expect the arrival of a well-thought out apology to our manor by breakfast tomorrow. That of course is if I were sorted into Ravenclaw, or god forbid, Hufflepuff. Gryffindor would require much more diplomacy to work my way out of." She paused, "Leave your trunk Hermione. The House Elves will collect them for us."

"House Elves?" The muggleborn girl asked as they slipped through the thickening corridor to wait at the still unopened doors.

"They are humanoid creatures which are bound to act as servants to older Wizarding families. My family owns five. In exchange for protection their ancestors agreed to handle all of our domestic matters unless dismissed." Daphne explained dismissively.

"What a long, roundabout way of saying the word slavery," Gossamer bit back ferociously. Green eyes turned towards Hermione's brown pair. "Clearly, Daphne was intelligent enough at a young age to ask her bigoted grandfather whether it was truly humane that they owned a fleet of House Elves. He then proceeded to brainwash her into believing hat they enjoy cleaning toilets for free, and now she believes we can be silenced with the same load of hot garbage."

"That is absolutely barbaric," Hermione affirmed with a horrified tone.

Daphne rolled her blue eyes at them both in her perpetually sarcastic manner. "Don't feed me that load of bullarky Gossamer. Not when I can practically imagine your old, aunty Gamp being given foot massages by a fleet of House Elves all day long."

"Things will be different when I am Head of House Gamp, Daphne," Gossamer retorted as the three of them slipped along the platform of Hogsmeade. Any continuation of the contentious topic was interrupted soundly by Hagrid's, the Hogwarts Gamekeeper's, introduction. The gargantuan man led them off the platform, down a side trail through a thicket of trees, and onto a beach. Following his directions the three girls stole themselves a boat from the fleet that was docked ahead. Luckily no other first years joined them and the new acquaintances were able to chat freely amongst themselves. First, however, they all focused their hungry gazes on Hogwarts for the first time ever.

"So lovely," Hermione whispered breathily, "That is the most delightful sight I have ever seen." Both Daphne and Gossamer agreed with her as they silently nodded. None of the trio spoke until they were winding through the bowels of Hogwarts from the little cove in which the boats had glided to an automatic halt. Winding upwards from within a crowd of whispering students they all began to visibly grow much more nervous.

Trying desperately to breathe properly Gossamer was distracted by a tap on her shoulder after Hagrid had left them waiting in the Entry Hall. Turning she came face-to-face with a boy who reeked of pureblooded arrogance. Sleek blonde hair, pointed features, and frigidly grey eyes pulled the repugnant aura together quite nicely. "I heard Gossamer Potter-Gamp would be in my year," He extended an unwavering hand, "So I had no choice but to seek you out. Draco Malfoy."

Gossamer knew who the Malfoys were of course. They were most likely wealthier than Houses Potter and Gamp combined. Ardent supporters of Voldemort though so socially respected that not a single allegation could be raised against them without fear of serious repercussions. Perhaps Lucius Malfoy wished to have a chance at controlling the Girl-Who-Lived through a friendship with his son. There were many nutters out there that believed her having defeated the Dark Lord as a toddler was some indication that she would grow into a powerful Dark witch herself. Caught up in these thoughts she barely heard as Daphne interjected for her when Draco Malfoy finally removed his ignored limb. "Did daddy Malfoy tell you to memorize that line, Draco?" She asked sneerily.

Grey eyes glared with vitriol after that comment, "Mind your place Greengrass. My father has considerably more influence than yours. Never speak ill of a Malfoy in my presence again." That dynamic made sense easily enough to Gossamer. The Greengrasses were rumoured to be the second wealthiest family ahead of the Malfoys, but still behind the Blacks. They lacked the political power of House Malfoy, however, and were allegedly in charge of many sordid, risky business fronts. Such families performed much better behind the scenes rather than out in the open with targets on their backs. From how Daphne had turned to stare at her Gossamer could recognize that her mild interference had been a test. Would the Girl-Who-Lived be a worthwhile ally? One that would stand up for the Greengrass girl and return risky favours, or was she not worth the risk?

"As you should know by now," Draco practically hissed, "Some company is better to keep around than others. Don't be the kind of witch that consorts with the daughter of a drug lord." That was clearly a jibe at Daphne. He then peered at Hermione, "Or with people that look quite so unfortunate as that _thing_." The muggleborn deflated immediately beneath the weight of the cruel put down as some of their less mature peers openly laughed.

"I would take these two fantastic human beings," She spoke in a firm tenor, "Over your company any day of the week." Feeling the need to repay his cruelty towards Hermione and Daphne she peered at the overweight boys who were presumably his henchmen. "Did you figure out your wand situation, Goyle? If not it is nothing to fret over. I hear that Horklump Pus wands are well suited to the occupation of a Squib." Cruel giggles erupted from the crowd. "As for you Malfoy," Green eyes glittered smolderingly in his direction, "My parents died fighting Voldemort. They would never forgive me if I befriended the spawn of Death Eater scum. Keep in mind the Azkaban sentence your father weaseled his way out of after the Blood War." Spinning back around she came face-to-face with a stern-faced woman.

"My name is Professor McGonagall," She still stared at Gossamer with an oddly fond look on her weathered face, "You all will be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts Houses in the next few moments. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Your performance will have the potential to earn your House points over the course of this year. Likewise, any rule-breaking will lose you House points. The House with the most points at the end of the second term will be awarded the House cup." The Professor left for several moments only to return once again. "Follow me," Her stern voice left no room for argument.

The nervous gaggle of students stepped inside the Great Hall to find hundreds of eyes staring at them. Keeping her spine rigid Gossamer looked up to find Albus Dumbledore smiling down at them all. More specifically, at her. It was unsurprising given that the girl's face had been plastered all over the Daily Prophet after her contentious interview with Rita Skeeter. Wincing away that memory Gossamer stared upwards to see McGonagall standing next to a mangy, old hat which sat on a rickety stool. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. McGonagall lifted the dirty thing up by the bent point on its top. "When I call your name," She spoke in a resonating voice, "Sit on the stool so that you may be sorted." Without pausing for a moment the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts called out the first name, "Abbot, Hannah." The inane blonde girl who had chatted Gossamer's ear off at the Wand Crafting Ceremony was, thankfully, sorted into Hufflepuff.

Soon enough came, "Granger, Hermione." Whispering to herself the whole while she stumbled up to the stool. They argued silently, the muggleborn and the Sorting Hat, for what seemed like quite a while. A boy behind Gossamer made a rude comment about Hermione's mental state prompting Daphne to surprise them both. "Shut it," Her icy gaze burnt worse than any flame could, "Or you will be sent to Hufflepuff as karmic retribution."

"GRYFFINDOR," The Sorting Hat screamed as Hermione eagerly threw the object at McGonagall prior to racing down to the crimson table. She waved with a triumphant gaze at Daphne and Gossamer.

"Greengrass, Daphne," Was called out immediately after distracting them from Hermione's inarguable success. With the least amount of confidence Gossamer had ever seen her display the girl slipped up to the stool. Almost as soon as the hat touched her head it began to mouth what looked an awful lot like, 'Slytherin.' Though instantly the Greengrass witch twisted her head defiantly. What followed was a match of wills even greater than Hermione's had been. At one point Daphne stamped her foot violently down prompting everyone to gasp surprisedly. When the five minute mark passed the Great Hall by people began to whisper over how there was a new 'Hatstall'.

Finally the Hat bent itself down in what seemed to be an obvious sign of defeat. "GRYFFINDOR," He bellowed prompting shocked gasps to erupt around the Great Hall. Gossamer almost swayed on the spot from the sheer surprise which overwhelmed her. A Greengrass being sorted into, not only a House other than Slytherin, but _Gryffindor_ of all things? Very unenthusiastic applause came from any of the Gryffindors with enough sense to recognize the bizarreness of the situation. Hisses snapped across the Great Hall from the Slytherin table as Daphne was clearly singled out as a traitor. At least until Professor McGonagall waved for them to cease their behavior. Gossamer watched as the only Greengrass to have ever been sorted into Gryffindor sat proudly next to Hermione.

Draco Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin alongside the rest of his cronies without any further surprises. Then came what she waited so nervously for, "Potter-Gamp, Gossamer." Hands trembling she slipped forwards while Dumbledore continued to smile down at her with deceptive kindness. Fingers quaking at being alone in Hogwarts with such a powerful wizard she tried to ignore the hungry gazes boring into her back. The Sorting Hat was a very welcome reprieve from it all. ' _Ah, you left quite an impression on the Greengrass whelp, Potter. Or is it Potter-Gamp?'_ An eager pause, ' _Perhaps soon it shall even be Potter-Gamp-Black.'_

'Sort me already, you lazy little-.' She was cut off abruptly from her train of thought.

' _Now, now,'_ Amusement rushed through her body, though it was not her own, ' _We will talk until I am good and ready. So much courage, though you have been trained to hide it deep beneath layers of Slytherin cunning. Interesting, not a learned trait either, but quite innate.'_ A hiss prompted Gossamer's head to twitch alongside the hat's agitation. ' _Your loyalty only belongs to those who have gone through hell to earn it. I also shudder to imagine what a predator such as yourself might do in the Badger's den. Hufflepuff is out.'_ Deciding to assist him in his selection she shot the memory of Hermione's dismissal of Ravenclaw. ' _Yes. Ms. Granger quite succinctly made that point many times. It does not, however, fit all sizes. You have a love for learning, for intellectualism. Though you also desire to exploit the knowledge for the purpose of gaining power. A very Slytherin-like quality.'_

' _Now, come to think of it,'_ He chortled in her head, ' _You would do very well in Slytherin. Yes, I think I might just sort you there._ ' Gossamer was only too quick to shoot images of Draco Malfoy directly at him. ' _A silly spat with one other student should not be proper cause to sort you into an inadequate House. Yes, I think that would work quite well, let it be-.'_

"Listen here you wonky, fucking hat," Gossamer cut him off very sharply, "I will not be sentenced to seven years of hell all because you are a broken artifact from Lord even knows when." McGonagall stilled surprisedly at what she had just overheard, so the girl halted only to lower her voice. "I swear, Sorting Hat, that if I am sorted into Slytherin I will not pause until I have learned how to undo whatever enchantments Godric Gryffindor placed on you. Leave the rest to your imagination…"

' _Both of your aunts have left quite an impression on you, have they not?'_ Gossamer could have sworn that observation was a gulp. ' _I suppose,'_ He hissed furiously, ' _That you should go to Gryffindor with your other friends. Difficult little brats the lot of you are! Helga have mercy on Hogwarts! GRYFFINDOR_.' Ripping the thing of her head she handed it quickly back to the Deputy Headmistress with a deeply apologetic look. Then without another thought she practically skipped to the table her parents had also been sorted into. Thunderous applause echoed as various Gryffindors shouted things like, "We got Potter."

Sitting next to Daphne, who in turn had chosen to sit next to Hermione, they politely listened to the rest of the sorting. They all watched with mild horror, and morbid fascination, as Sir Nicholas proved to them why exactly he was called 'Nearly Headless.' The three of them swiftly ignored the ghost after that prior to conversing about their Sorting experiences. Except for Daphne, of course. Hisses would still occasionally erupt from the Slytherin table behind them. "I will need to learn _Protection Charms_ three years early, I suppose," The girl smiled with a white face.

Any assurances Gossamer intended to give were cut off, for Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. "Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered.

"Ruddy old fool he is," Gossamer hissed to Hermione as food magically appeared on their table.

" _He_ is Albus Dumbledore, greatest wizard in the modern era!" A red-haired Prefect with an upturned nose, a 'bitch's nose' her Aunt Coco would have derided it, glared with righteous indignation at the girl.

"Do you have any idea what that meant?" She snapped back sharply, "Because I do." Here a wicked smile curved her lips at the older boy's befuddled face, "He was making a point against House divisions. About how we all will view one another now that we have been Sorted. Instead of simply giving a speech which we all could have understood he had to use four, batty words which even the cleverest of Ravenclaws could not have decrypted."

"Really?" Hermione asked Gossamer interestedly immediately after that revelation, "How did you figure out what he meant so quickly?" She looked over at Percy who still glared disapprovingly towards her new friend before an answer was provided. "I find myself compelled to support Gossamer. What is the point in saying anything if it is done in such a vague mann-." A curtain of bushy hair flashed as Hermione turned concernedly to her new friend, "Are you alright?"

"Who is that?" Gossamer nodded surreptitiously towards the Head Table while grasping at her forehead in pain. The red-headed adversary turned away disapprovingly from the bizarre scene when Daphne shot him a glare. Bombshell blonde swirled about while the heiresses' head was leant into her forehead.

"Severus Snape," Daphne remarked quietly with a dry look on her face, "Our Potions Professor, and Head of Slytherin." At Hermione's questioning look the blonde smirked, "My family's social circle runs deep. You both would be surprised to learn how many names I am acquainted with." A hint of relief bled through the pain in Gossamer's scar when everyone finally turned from them to gaze up at Dumbledore's next round of words.

"Ahern - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

There was, somewhat of a sinister departure, from his deceptively twinkling gaze at the next bit. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

"-t be," The uppity ginger spoke to Dean Thomas across from them, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere - the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Gossamer noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!" And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.

Everybody finished the song at different times. Only a pair of annoying red-headed twins, suspicious coincidence, were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest. "Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!" Feeling exhilarated to escape from a night chock full of developments Gossamer stuck close to her new friends, following them off towards Gryffindor Tower. Painfully aware of the calculating gaze which followed her fleeing form.

Unaware of all the strength that would be needed to survive seven years at Hogwarts.

OOOO

That was long. Whoo. I was going to push Hogwarts back a bit, but it just started to feel like the right thing to send them now. There will still be a lot going on with Coco and Gunnhilda. Also, Hermione and Daphne are going to center prominently too. They will definitely not be mere back-ups to Gossamer's character. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around long enough to read this. I am going through a weird creative phase where I am writing my own stuff while trying to fight through my engineering program. I won't apologize for getting busy, but I do feel a bit bad… Please review as always, and remember that I haven't given up!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: What You Know.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.

OOOO

When the first hex Gossamer Potter-Gamp had ever experienced struck home she found herself crippled. Sardines pouring from the nose, throat convulsing at the endless presence of rotten fish snaking across her mucous membrane. As oxygen flooded out of her brain the girl reflected on the first three weeks of school. Of the competitiveness that landed her in this terrible predicament.

There had been the Professors that loved her simply for being the offspring of James and Lily Potter. Flitwick had gushed as such upon their first meeting before the whole class. Of course, he also cornered her after class to enquire after her famous, accomplished, Charm's Mistress of an aunt. Enquire, in this case, simply meant to prise away any confidential information Gossamer accidentally knew regarding the Department of Mystery's latest studies. Not appreciating such a rude endeavor the girl, with just as much impoliteness, simply 'enquired' if Flitwick's short stature had yielded an unfair advantage over opponents during his duelling days. Needless to say he now steadfastly ignored her even when she raised her hand to answer questions.

Others still did not seem to care at all such as Professors Sprout, Binns, and McGonagall. Of course, when Gossamer was the very first student, only a hair sooner than Hermione, to transfigure a match to a needle, the strict Professor had revealed a strange expression. The Girl-Who-Lived had _not_ been too distracted by the ten points awarded her House to notice that it was rather wistful indeed.

Of course, it was a major shock to encounter one Severus Snape for her very first Potions class in that first week. Seated beside Daphne, while Hermione had taken to very charitably assisting a genuinely helpless Neville Longbottom as proven in all other classes, they all watched the man sweep into the dungeons. A mass of black fabric and disgustingly unwashed hair. Nose wrinkling Gossamer had instantly begun to peruse her as he spoke down to them in a condescending tone.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word. Like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." More silence followed this little speech. Gossamer and Daphne exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Poor Hermione was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood." Hermione's shoulder jerked as though she instinctively wished to answer the question. Instead the girl fought the reluctant muscle down and turned to stare at Gossamer like the rest of the class. Both the bookworm and Daphne looked interested to see how their new friend would fare in Potions.

Gossamer had annotated over half of each of her books prior to arriving at Hogwarts. Consequently she knew the answer. "A Sleeping Potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. Though that is a NEWT level Potion…."

"Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar, Potter?" Snape's lip curled nastily, though Gossamer could discern an interested gleam hiding in his eyes.

"The stomach of a ruminant given that it is a small stone composed of-."

"What is the difference between Monkshood and Aconite?" He cut her off, jumping to the third question without any pause.

At this point Gossamer was truly lucky to have been so well acquainted with Herbology, for she had not read about that particular plant yet. "Same thing," She half-grunted aloud at the realization that he would merely talk over her.

"Stay after class Potter," He snapped sharply prior to bidding that they begin brewing a Simple Cure for Boils. At one instance both Hermione and herself jumped up to stop Neville from adding the porcupine quills prior to having pulled his cauldron off the heat. At that point the three of them agreed he would only ever prepare ingredients and observe Hermione in action until he became more confident. Moments after what could have truly been a devastating accident Snape forced the class to listen as he preened over Malfoy's ability to stew horned slugs.

"He wants to get in good with Malfoy Senior, no doubt," Daphne had sneered under her breath as they worked. "If Abraxas Malfoy were still alive Snape wouldn't have even bothered with it all."

"Why is that?" Gossamer asked just as subtly.

"The little I know of Severus Snape from Pureblood social circles is that he was a former Death Eater-turned-spy for Dumbledore, _and_ a half-blood. A staunch purist like Abraxas Malfoy never would have associated with a traitorous half-blood." She smiled cheekily at her friend, "Just a little warning to keep in mind for after class, Goss!"

"Did you ever write that apology letter to your parents?" The other First Year rebutted quite coyly indeed.

"No," Daphne sniffed indignantly, "Though I suppose my parents will have already suspected that the Sorting was not quite up to scratch with the delay of my correspondence." Her voice had not quite been as whispery as intended allowing an unsavoury individual to eavesdrop.

"Up to scratch, Greengrass?" Pansy Parkinson chortled behind them whilst Millicent Bulstrode glowered pettily. "How many generations of your ancestors have been Slytherins? Then you threw it all away to sit alongside the lowest scum in Potions?" In a surreptitious movement Daphne twirled her middle finger through her luxurious golden locks. The outraged expressions of Parkinson and her crony were forgotten soon after as Snape passed by each of the cauldrons.

Pink steam indeed misted from the bubbling cauldron which sat before them. Of course, the magenta hue of the Potion itself was not standard. Snape had saved the pair of them for last and dismissed the class upon glancing at the brew. "Who brewed?" He finally asked once everyone had cleared. When Daphne tentatively raised her hand Snape all-but snarled for her to leave. "I will have you know, Potter," He stared with those black eyes, "That your mother was quite the Potioneer as well. I also remember half of the things she got up to as being quite illicit in both the school's rules, and further beyond."

Gossamer wondered how her mother had ever come to be known by such a foul-tempered wizard. "Before pouncing upon any poorly constructed, hair-brained plots you will approach me with a procedural plan. Sufficiently detailed with any necessary research outlined in an accredited format." He glared as if to punctuate that point. "The next time you deviate from my instructions by altering something even so insignificant as the constitution of dried nettles, I shall approve it first. Is. That. Understood?"

"Yes Professor Snape," She answered him without flinching, emerald-green glaring boldly against demonic black.

"Leave," He intoned firmly, sweeping away, "With half-a-point to Gryffindor for the strongest Cure for Boils I have encountered in some years." She scurried from the room none-too-eagerly.

In the following weeks Gossamer surprised herself with just how competitive of a student she was shaping into. Only Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts were proving challenging. Professor Quirrell had proven an incredibly peculiar man who left a wildly unsettling feeling in her stomach. Coco Potter had wasted no time teaching her niece that if someone ever made her feel unsafe she was to trust her gut. She followed that advice, and this was the only class in which she sat in the back.

Charms, of course, was made abysmal due to the fact that she was the only student disliked by Professor Flitwick. Whilst the theory flew over her head entirely both she and Hermione had Daphne to thank for their advanced practical abilities. Beneath the Greengrass girl's assistance they could levitate increasingly large objects with practice, as well as unlock unenchanted doors. Recently the three of them had arrived on equal footing which meant they were attempting the _Severing Charm_ together.

Everywhere else Gossamer found that she was scrabbling ferociously for the top spot. She and Neville competed ferociously for Professor Sprout's attention in Herbology. The Hufflepuff Head often lamented aloud at having lost them both to Gryffindor. Hermione had been the greatest competition in History of Magic as well as Transfiguration. While Transfiguration was almost always a draw Gossamer gained a covert edge in History of Magic by surreptitiously visiting ghosts about the castle for help with her essays.

Potions was indomitably her own terrain. Only Draco Malfoy, Hermione, and Daphne came in anywhere close though they were still far behind. There was something so natural about Potions. Gossamer could draw upon her vast knowledge of simplistic magical plants to tweak the recipes in a favourable manner. True to her word she would do as Snape had asked. Though it was hard. No matter how much effort she put into her experimental plans new inspirations would always appear on the fly. Barely restrainable urges to manipulate the simmering brews into something more potent. Instinctual even.

Then finally there came Astronomy where an unexpected competitor pushed into the foray. Pansy Parkinson, snide little hag she was, had somehow managed to surpass them all in gaining Professor Sinistra's doting admiration. Between sneering that Hermione was 'filthy scum', and Daphne was a 'blood traitor', she proved a meticulous observer of the cosmos. Of course, Gossamer pushed herself even harder to make up for the gap. By the third week she was nearly as dab a hand as Pansy, but it came at a great cost.

On a Thursday, the day after Astronomy, Gossamer found herself approaching the library for a bit of pre-dinner studying. "Off to bury your face in McGonagall's righteous arse, Potter?" Pushing from a shadowy alcove was Parkinson. Flanking her on the right was Millicent Bulstrode while Tracy Davis rounded out the left.

"No," She answered smugly, "I was going to study a particular star chart. While you slip further behin-."

"Shut it," Millicent whipped her wand out with a sadistic glower. The hulking girl looked as though she was ready to perform some deadly form of Black Magic. Gossamer was less than impressed.

"What are you going to do?" She asked snarkily, hands settling defiantly upon her hips. "Shoot sparks at me until I cry?" A coy arch of the eyebrow accentuated her fiery smile. "I have recently mastered the _Severing Charm_ ," Tone growing incredibly frosty, "Whichever of you tries to attack me first will be shown no mercy. The Board of Governors will certainly be inclined to side with a student acting in self-defense."

"My grandfather is on the board." A cruel glint glittered in Pansy's dull eyes, "He and his colleagues will side with me over a scumsucking mudwallower any day." She snapped with the elegance expected of any heiress. "Since you are so fond of learning, I imagine it would do you well to get a private lesson with Tracey here. She already knows how to cast a Hex…" In only a few seconds Gossamer was kneeling on the stone floor while sardines wiggled throughout her skull. Gagging violently choked as the three witches laughed.

"Finite Incantatem," A crisp voice interrupted the torture, as she was helped to her feet. Blinking away the awful taste of rotted fish Gossamer glanced into a pair of grey eyes that could only be characterized as wells of compassion. A handsome boy, presumably two years older, stared concernedly down at her. Pansy began to make a smart remark until he pointed his wand threateningly at her. "If I were you," He stared her down firmly, "I would recognize just how out of my depth I was in this situation." His grip tightened on her shoulder. "Perhaps she can impart the seriousness upon you more… Sufficiently."

"No," Gossamer did not draw her wand at his thinly veiled suggestion. "You three, edentulous slags are going to leave. With the knowledge that your integrity is nonexistent. That no one in Gryffindor ever would have ganged up on another student, three-to-one, as you all did today." They all stood staring. Until the older student shot warning sparks prompting them all to scurry off. She waited not a moment later to to rifle through her bag, pulling out a bag of bourbon Charm Chocs. Without glancing at him the Girl-Who-Lived stormed into the library as originally intended. Eventually, with her usual table close at hand, Gossamer finally sat down. "What do you want?"

"I just rescued you from a _Nose-Sardine Hex_ ," He sat across from her, eyeing the surprising number of books being pulled from her satchel. "Would it not be reckless of me to leave without making sure you haven't suffered a stroke?"

"I was just destroyed by a Slytherin in a duel _after_ talking a load of horse shite," Gossamer snapped back at him. She turned to glare murderously at the shushing which ensued from Madam Pince's direction. "I do _not_ want to be quarantined by the Hufflepuff that saved me from it all." Green eyes softened prior to flashing apologetically, "Thank you, by the way, I suppose I should say." Her voice grew feebler as the rage subsided, "I don't know your name. You certainly already know who I am though."

"Cedric Diggory, and I really had no choice about whether or not to interfere," He did not seem fazed by her half-crazed rant. There was a kindness to his grey eyes, she noted again. Her mind whirled at the realization that there was a 'Madam Diggory' on the Wizengamot. Certainly it would help her case to befriend a Pureblood with such connections as Cedric Diggory had. Perhaps something good _could_ actually come from the earlier debacle. The only question was how to accomplish it? "Have the Slytherins already attacked you like this?" He wondered whilst staring at her still-reddened face.

"No," She answered, incredibly grateful that her breath no smelled of bourbon instead of rotted fish.

"Then you need to prepare," He stared firmly at her, "Slytherins are far more unified than the other Houses. They will be coming after you in droves until it is proven that you are capable of defending yourself."

"How do I do that?" She admitted to him, "Professor Quirrell gives me the creeps, and Flitwick hates me. I can hardly ask McGonagall to teach me defensive magic."

He swept a hand towards the piles of annotated books sitting before her. "You are clearly no slouch, Gossamer Potter. Not from what I can see sitting here, nor from what I have heard of you already." Cedric Diggory smiled before whispering, "I will let you in on a secret. Something that has helped me immensely with duelling." He sat back, wand withdrawn, "What are you good at? Other than your rumoured genius in Potions and Herbology?"

"Transfiguration," She answered curiously, "I was the first to transfigure my match into a needle."

"Good," He whispered an incantation causing a single match to appear on the table before them. "What makes Dumbledore such a great wizard? What, other than the uncommonly large magical core, allowed him to defeat Grindelwald?" The match floated up in the air with the aid of a _Hovering Charm_. The third year did not wait for an answer. With another effortless spell the match was transformed into a needle. In another move it was duplicated into at least one-hundred duplicate needles. All of which looked dangerously sharp in that moment. "Dumbledore comprehensively mastered the fundamentals. When he learned how to transfigure a match to needle he did not simply stop there. No, he learned to make more matches. Then I am certain he learned precisely how to send those needles in the direction of unassuming adversaries."

"Can I really learn all of those spells?" Her voice held an interested tone.

"Yes. Conjuring matches is far simpler than conjuring needles. The rest is just a matter of creativity, and sufficient perusal of this very fine library." Standing, the boy nodded down at her. "Also bear in mind that the DADA curriculum at Hogwarts is very poorly overseen. You will probably learn more cutting class than listening to Quirrell." With a charming wink the lad left her sitting alone.

That was when she realized just how much of a slacker she had been in her quest to become as powerful of a witch as Dumbledore.

OOOO

"Goss!" Hermione hissed, "Are we really not going to discuss what happened today? You were almost expelled!"

"Now I am on the Quidditch team," The girl retorted quietly, whilst peering through an obscure book written on magical manipulation of surfaces. A week had passed since she was cornered by Pansy Parkinson. Already she found herself soaring beyond her peers although it required an immense amount of work. In between classes her nose was always pressed into a book. During the evenings she could always be found by the Black Lake practicing spells prior to heading for dinner. While Hermione wasted precious talent constantly revising for tests, and Daphne wasted precious talent on writing scurried notes to her enraged parents, Gossamer was making connections. Even Flitwick had been impressed when she managed a _Mending Charm_ in front of him, before he realized that he was supposed to hate her of course.

"The far more important thing here," Daphne sighed disinterestedly whilst aggressively signing the letter which sat in front of her, "Is that Goss has made it onto the Quidditch team. As a _First Year_." Her icy blue eyes roved disapprovingly over Hermione. "Perhaps she should stand up to ignoramuses like Malfoy far more often."

"Or not," Hermione clapped back whilst pulling her notes out. "The last thing I need is for my friend to push the limits too far and get expelled!"

"Useless," The frazzled girl in question slammed the book shut prior to addressing them both. "Being on the Quidditch team is _not_ something to be excited about. I will lose so much studying time it is hardly even worth the prestige without mentioning the obvious possibility of death." She pulled the wand that was tucked into her bombshell blonde bun out allowing the locks to cascade sleekly about. "If McGonagall had not blackmailed me with detention never would have agreed otherwise." Green eyes roved over to Hermione after. "Dumbledore will never expel me from Hogwarts. Not unless I am caught murdering someone which would result in my being sent to Azkaban anyways."

"Why?" The muggleborn asked confusedly.

"Oh dear," Daphne, who had started reviewing her Transfiguration notebook smiled. "The time has come for us to teach Miss-Know-It-All about the ways of the Wizarding World."

"Answer my question, Daphne Greengrass," Hermione crossed both arms causing her friends to laugh.

"It cannot be answered simply, Hermione," Gossamer spoke firmly, "You must understand how the government operates in the Wizarding World."

"Who holds the power," Daphne supplied.

"Why they hold that power," Gossamer affirmed.

"But if you truly wish to understand," Daphne peered at their muggleborn friend, "You have to do it properly. _Our_ way." When Hermione Granger nodded the Greengrass girl wasted no time at all. "Research these topics comprehensively. Next Thursday we will discuss them together, and I will give you more."

It was a very strange dynamic indeed. A Greengrass sitting with the Girl-Who-Lived and a muggleborn. Though it seemed right. Even when Hermione lectured her about stupid recklessness, and Daphne ridiculed that such a bookworm/Herbology-freak would be the youngest Seeker in generations, Gossamer felt happy. She knew that there was no other place in the world that she really wanted to be.

OOOO

Next Chapter: The Start of Much Trouble.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: The Start of Much Trouble.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.

OOOO

"Madam Unspeakable," Amelia Bones did not deign to sneer, "You are a long ways from the Department of Mysteries." Her steely face was grim as usual. Even at the sight of the elegant flapper standing in the office's door frame. "Unless you have come to deposit the compendium of all spells cast during the attack on the Gala last month."

"We have analyzed all of the wands gathered, yes," Coquelicot Potter smiled predatorily. From within her handbag she withdrew a stack of papers. Sashaying forth the witch placed the classified documents before the DMLE head carefully. Dangerous hands, Bones thought to herself, powerful hands. Those very same hands had managed to unleash a _Blast Curse_ so powerful that it ripped a talented assassin nearly in half. "Had to cleave the things in two before the preventative enchantments would dissipate, I am afraid," The beautiful woman peered down at her with those charismatic eyes.

Amelia resisted the urge to fire a _Conjunctivitis Curse_ their way. Many in the Wizarding community had been won over by those eyes. They had been prominent in the speech Coquelicot Potter gave following the attack while Fudge was indisposed. More importantly they had been present directly after the assassination attempt when the Daily Prophet arrived for photos. While the famous time traveller had finally proved her mettle the DMLE Head was conversely criticized for mustering such a poor defense. All the effort she had put into one day securing the ministership was neutralized because this slag had gotten on the bad side of a ballerina-bitch troupe. Now it seemed that even Rufus Scrimgeour had a better shot at replacing Fudge. "Your predecessor never would have taken such a long time," The witch spoke coldly.

A surprised expression flashed across her adversary's pretty face before she leant forth slightly. "Pardon me, Madam Bones," She practically spat, "But my predecessor was all-but deranged by the time he passed away. Any issues you have with my handling of Mysterial affairs are born of recent events." Without another word the flapper clicked out of the office leaving only a tight lipped woman behind. Coco fought hard to keep the negativity of her colleagues from permeating her attitude. They were all snakes. Writhing reptiles who should have been steeling themselves mentally for this inevitability for years. That she was the most popular Ministry official in decades. Her campaign for Minister, at this point in time, would be a shoe-in.

Of course, this was also how Coco had begun to eliminate possible architect(s) of the assassination attempt. Only someone who had acknowledged her enviably rapid rise to prominence would have consciously deemed her as enough of a threat to warrant elimination. So, despite their collective nastiness, no one in the DMLE seemed worthy enough to remain on her list. "Head Unspeakable!" Rapidly clicking heels sounded prompting Coquelicot to spin around midstep.

Methuselah Pilliwickle. Granddaughter of the most popular DMLE Head in the contemporary century. Amelia Bones' reputation did not come anywhere close to Justus Pilliwickle's. He had embodied all of the necessary traits. Judicious, revolutionary, charismatic, and lacking in ambitions for the Ministership. His granddaughter was much the same, though in a different sort of way. Her charms were the result of a constant state of ditsy disarray. Golden locks which always had a messy frizz unless there was an important Ministry event. Expensive outfits that were always just shy of a perfect ironing. A pretty face often marked by the tics of a socially awkward individual. "I must speak with you regarding a violation of investigative protocol, Head Unspeakable."

"Please, call me Coquelicot, Miss. Pilliwickle," The flapper urged gently, "And I fear this course of discussion might better be discussed over coffee." Hazel eyes flickered behind them towards the DMLE door which seemed to constantly open. Too many ambitious little magicians desiring favour with Amelia Bones were about for comfort. Steering the younger woman away by the elbow they were soon sitting together in a corner of a muggle cafe.

"I tried to go directly to Minister Fudge," She admitted whilst ignoring the steaming cappuccino before her. Coco lifted a brow inquisitively receiving the desired information. "My mother's family has something of a blood feud with the Fudges. They have staunchly supported and funded all of the Minister's political opponents. He refused to see me for stepping out of my place, at least that is what the secretary said…"

"Don't worry. I get it," Coco nodded, sipping her latte, "Fudge is a zozzled little cunt." Methuselah's gasp of surprise was soundly cut off. "Now I need to know what is so important that you could not go to Amelia Bones about it?"

"The investigation of the assassination attempt drew several concerning leads. Madam Bones told Head Auror Scrimgeour that his access to the case was being reassigned last Friday. Auror Robards and myself were both buried under so much paperwork that we could hardly even blink-."

"Who was it reassigned to? What was so concerning about the leads?" Coco interrupted politely.

"Madam Bones said that Minister Fudge was reassigning the matter to," She looked about nervously despite the wards preventing eavesdropping, "The _CWO's_." Even Coco was surprised by this development. "Robards is still looking into the matter during his spare time. He does not believe the origin of the assassination plot to have come from abroad. I agree with I disagree with his decision to handle such affairs on his own." Blue eyes blinked rapidly, "We tracked a suspicious recent payment to one of the assassins Gringotts accounts back to an individual affiliated with organized crime in France. The Head Goblin's underling gave Robards and I additional information however. In return for this information he wanted for us to push for an investigation into the Head Goblin's… More corrupt dealings."

"Oh the petty ruthlessness of Goblinkind," She commented dryly, "Always to be depended upon. Now, were the provided details worth the promise?"

"Yes." Auror Pilliwickle answered shortly. As serious as stone. "He informed us that this French criminal had been wired a massive sum of money from one of the Hogwarts vaults. Shortly after, an amount of money only slightly smaller was distributed to the assassins. The entire operation was organized utilizing overseas, criminal assets. Yet we can trace it back to anyone who had access to those vaults."

"Then Gringotts should know who it was! Did you already begin investigating the leads given to you by your mole?" The Head Unspeakable was growing immensely unsettled. Gossamer was at Hogwarts. Possibly under the clutches of her alleged would-have-been murderer.

"Everything was confiscated last Friday," The young woman answered forlornly, "Other than the details Robards and I can remember. The Gringotts informant was found dead in Horizont Alley this weekend."

"You are a clever girl, Miss. Pilliwickle," Coco nodded at her whilst leaning back. Hiding any disappointment behind a mask of indifference. "We should both be able to agree that whoever orchestrated the attack of the gala is working behind the scenes to cover this up. The CWO's will be led on a goose chase until all has been forgotten. Or they will never even look into it given the lack of transparency surrounding their affairs. That indicates immense wealth, ministerial influence over Fudge and potentially Amelia Bones, as well as a vendetta against myself. They are either a Hogwarts Governor, Headmaster, or Professor to have access to any of the vaults. The latter is immensely unlikely. That means there are thirteen incredibly powerful, untouchable suspects who are unlikely to ever face investigation."

"Yes, Madam Potter," Methuselah nodded anxiously, "I could not in good conscience allow you to remain unaware while politics put your life in jeopardy."

"You remind me of your grandfather a great deal, Miss. Pilliwickle," She responded suddenly. The desired effect was attained. Her informant grew silent with wide eyes. As though no one had ever made such a comparison before. That was unsurprising. From what Coco could surmise the girl had a talented, prominent older brother in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Combined with traditionalist parents the admittedly peculiar girl was likely not accustomed to such praise. "I snogged with him several times when we worked at the Ministry together." The girl blushed embarrassedly. "His righteous determination to live with morality was always his greatest asset."

"It seems like whenever I do that I wind up in trouble, Madam Potter. Auror Robards twists all of the rules and gobbles up awards like a dragon." Her envy was easily identified, yet clearly disguised behind a wall of rigid morality.

"I need you to quit your job the second you get back to the DMLE." Coco confided. "I cannot hire you in the Department of Mysteries. Far too suspicious. Though I can help poise you prominently in the Department of International Magical Cooperation." At the girl's protests she firmly followed the offer up. "You do not need to be in that festering pit of corruption. You're talented, underappreciated, and now that you have tipped the hat to me, in grave danger. Robards will wind up catching the displeasure of whoever is at work behind the scenes with his unauthorized investigations. I need to repay the favour which means hiding you away in a posh job far from sight. Understood?"

The Pilliwickle girl nodded, albeit reluctantly, before standing. "Go now. Resign, then ask to stay with your parents for a while. You will receive a job offer from the DIMC within the week. Alright?"

"Yes, Madam Potter." Those blue eyes peered nervously at her one last time. "Please take care of yourself." Then Coco watched as the girl scurried away to ensure her own safety.

OOOO

Daphne Greengrass never worried whether she had royally forked herself. Even though there was a lot to be worried about. The Gryffindor colours which adorned her uniform. How she was only top of her class in Charms, and that was because Gossamer had earned Flitwick's hatred. Along with the fact that she found herself calling a mudblood her… Friend. No. So much of the child's provincial worldview was changing with such rapidity that it would have been a sensory overload to fret about the tarnishing of her future prospects as well.

The girl had overheard her father discussing his dislike for how radical Dumbledore and the former Death Eater Wizengamot coalitions were. That their _incredibly_ fragile business operations were losing balance, and quickly, due to a lack of adequate grey zone to stand upon. Gossamer's, or Goss as Daphne now called the other witch, Wand Choosing Ceremony left a clear, albeit dangerous, solution out in the open. Houses Potter, Gamp, and now Black were forming a wealthy, influential power bloc. All of which were united behind a very ambiguous, yet still immensely respected, young witch. There were those who believed Gossamer Potter would usurp Dumbledore one day while others fancied her a 'Dark Lady'.

Daphne was unsure as of yet. Though that was precisely why she had acted with such calculated recklessness. Goss could be molded with gentle guidance into a truly neutral force of impartiality. Such guidance would only have been listened to if it came from a dear friend. Perhaps after three years at Hogwarts House Greengrass could firmly align itself with the developing power. That was a benefit for later though. Until such trust could be forged there was three years of back breaking labor to be seen to. Truly, it was not quite so hard of work.

No. The constant clashing of her childhood values with contrary evidence was simply overwhelming. There was the fact that Gossamer Potter, a half-blood, and Hermione Granger, a muggleborn, were the cleverest of their year. Daphne could not so easily deride it as a fluke as the envious Slytherins did. She studied with the pair of them every day. Then there had been the tutelage of Hermione in Pureblood matters. Her willingness to learn such things, albeit an unsurprising readiness, smacked everything her grandfather had ever preached about in the face. Muggleborns were not obtuse invaders. They were foreigners who had been ferociously denied any chance at becoming at all assimilated. Finally came the matter of certain Professors. As a decesendant of many generations of Blood Purist, decidedly Slytherin sorcerers, Daphne had no niche in the favoritism which ran rampant throughout Hogwarts. Snape hated her, McGonagall distrusted her, and whenever Dumbledore peered hungrily down at Goss he spared a solemn glance for her Greengrass companion.

"I should leave. There is something I need to do," Daphne stood suddenly, gathering her many mounds of extracurricular study materials.

"Is anything the matter, Daph?" Hermione asked in response, peeking her face out of a massive book borrowed from the library.

"Don't worry, Hermione," Daphne answered morosely, "There is just something I must attend to."

Without another word she left her mudblood friend alone in the Quidditch Pitch stands. They had shifted their studying routine outside so as to support Goss during one of her many practices. In celebration of her niece's historic admittance to the team Coquelicot Potter had sent a poorly disguised Nimbus 2000 as an expensive little surprise. Of course, the revelry wore out quickly leaving Daphne muddled by her many thoughts again. Her boots squelched in mud the whole way back to Hogwarts, for despite the sudden sunshine autumn was still fast approaching.

Any plans the Greengrass witch had of going to take a nap while that snatch Lavender Brown was away with the equally annoying Parvati were interrupted. Overhead a very loud screech sounded. Her mother's owl wasted no time swooping down upon her extended arm. Hurriedly, Daphne extricated the note before shooing the bird away towards the skies above the Forbidden Forest. With shaking fingers she read the most recent missive. Only recently had her parents given up their boiling rage just the slightest bit. Behind the lines she could tell that they were now beginning to recognize that they had no choice but to depend upon her. As the firstborn of the next generation it was Daphne's duty to begin forging new connections. What she did here had very real consequences for the family business.

' _Daphne,_

 _You are an extraordinarily clever girl, you must be if we are to ever trust you again. The Parkinsons have already snubbed us after receiving reports from Hogwarts about our Blood Traitor daughter. They will not be voting in favour of your father's proposal to lower the non-tradability of Venomous Tentacula seeds. We cannot begin to distribute our latest product if that particular ingredient remains such a tightly regulated substance. That is why I have convinced your father to trust you. Even if you are only eleven years old you have bitten off far more responsibility than can be ignored. Sink your claws deeply into Gossamer Potter. Do not dare lose such a powerful friendship over any petty spats, or schoolgirl arguments. Soon we will give Coquelicot Potter what she wants in exchange for what we want. Keep this strange bond you have chosen to form with the Potter girl alive and well._

 _Or do not bother to come home at all._

 _With all my love,_

 _Mother._

 _(P.S. I received a letter from Professor Flitwick this week. He claims you are the youngest student he has ever seen cast the Disarming Charm without prior assistance. Continue to make House Greengrass proud.)_

That was typical of her mother. A deranged cocktail of approval, disapproval, love, hate, and everything else in between. Daphne was just pleased the woman had sent such a calm, _sane,_ letter for the first time since her arrival to Hogwarts. She was sick of constantly worrying over whether or not they were happy. With a ferocious hiss the Gryffindor crumpled the letter and tossed it to the ground. " _Incendio,_ " Daphne snarled watching as it exploded into violent flames.

"That was an excellent _Fire-Making Charm_ ," An impressed, croaky voice commented. She spun around instantly to find Professor Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures instructor. The man was grizzled to say the least, and lacking in an arm and a leg. "There is a nasty little Acromantula nest that was spotted in the Forbidden Forest yesterday. Far on the outskirts. Would you like to help me tend to it?"

"Why not?" Daphne shrugged. Of course, it was strange for him to want to murder spiders with a First Year girl. However, the man was too disabled to try and attack her without much trouble, not to mention that Dumbledore was presumably capable of powerful _Tracking Charms_ if she disappeared. Besides, her mood left the girl wanting to set more things on fire.

"Nasty creatures Acromantulas are. Giant spiders the size of boulders, and sometimes bigger." The man groaned out as they approached the Forbidden Forest. "Somehow a nest of them cropped up years ago. Now they are constantly trying to spread out further from where they belong."

"Why don't the Centaurs sort it out?" Daphne asked curiously, "I doubt that they are much too thrilled to have such creatures encroaching on their territory…"

"Aye, Miss. Greengrass, that is _why_ we are making this little trip," His eyes twinkled merrily. So very different from the way in which Dumbledore's flashed manipulatively at Goss during meals in the Great Hall. "Years ago when the first two Acromantulas started to build a sizeable little army tensions flared. There was a war of sorts between all of the little factions in those woods. The Centaurs and Acromantulas had a nasty fight. Ripped the Quidditch Pitch to the ground." He shuddered. "The wolves went wild. Rushed into Hogsmeade in a mad panic. Half of the forest was set alight with fires started by the Centaurs. Then that blasted Hippogriff herd grew so upset that they flew towards Hogwarts. Never seen so many bird droppings in all my years."

"So now it falls to you to keep the peace." She spoke more than asked. He simply nodded prior to explaining the best ways to navigate the forest. Broomstick was preferable due to the undergrowth. Otherwise it was best to stick to the paths. The Professor imparted all manner of secret groves, and hidden trails as they neared closer to the nest. Daphne simply shuddered at the thought of ever venturing into the dense forest by herself. Soon enough they were facing a grisly sight behind a thicket of sentinel trees.

A writhing web of massive, black eggs.

"Right. When de-nesting any harmful species from an area it is key to start in the middle. In case any have already hatched-." A sudden keening squeal interrupted the man as he swiveled about to face the shadows. Unfortunately, his peg leg caught in the dirt while the threat turned out to wield the element of surprise. Swinging from above came a fanged, nasty spider the size of a horse. It slammed into Professor Kettleburn whilst those pincers aimed ravenously for the wizard's throat. Both of the adversaries fell backwards when the man's last, good knee collapsed.

With no reluctance at all Kettleburn pried the deadly head away whilst slamming the tip of his wand into the side of the things body. What Daphne presumed were _Stinging Hexes_ left flashes of steaming light behind. As they fought she realized with horror that the Acromantula was busy trapping its prey in a web whilst engaging the top half of his struggling body. Legs now bound by thick webs, Kettleburn was left defenseless after the creature bit violently into his arm. The wand flew away into a patch of undergrowth seconds after.

""FLIPENDO!" Daphne roared, releasing the very elementary jinx as a result. Surprisingly enough the monstrous thing flipped several feet away prior to hitting a tree. "Incendio," She caused the webs to burn away whilst tugging the clearly delusional Professor away. Now that what had seemed like a harmless field trip to exterminate Acromantulas now seemed close to a fight for her life. No wonder Kettleburn was so close to limblessness. Sheer incompetence in a _very_ dangerous field.

"Let-me-go," He gasped suddenly, tugging at her hand, "Female-venom-is…" The man lulled into unconsciousness. In response the Acromantula surged back up to its many legs across the little grove.

" _Talented little girl_ ," The decidedly feminine voice rasped, " _I could feel it in that spell you threw at me. Taste the exquisiteness of it_."

"What could you possibly know of taste? You are a spider, living in a forest, and laying sacks of eggs willy-nilly wherever you damn well please!" Daphne retorted with an indignant scoff. The beast chittered its way threatening towards her only to scuttle backwards a bit when the wand was pointed true once more.

" _That rage. It is always there in the blood of my prey when I lap at their wounds. Yet it seeps from the very scent of you_." Eight eyes pierced predatorily into the Greengrass girl's pretty face. " _Such a shame. One of the finest little witches of Hogwarts Castle is destined to be no more than my prey_." With another keening squeal the Acromantula sprung into a crouching position as though about to leap forth.

" _Petrificus Totalus_!" Daphne affirmed forcefully. When her would-have-been-murderer froze like a statue the girl allowed herself to slump both shoulders relievedly. That was a second year spell and she had only read the theory of it in passing. After glancing amazedly at the wand in her hand she felt it return. The rage that had been loosened during the altercation which had only ended moments earlier. "You would have feasted on my rage, would you not have?" Her voice was prim, though there was a definite, bone-chilling frostiness to it. "Well, I suppose that may not be entirely off the table yet." Slipping through the tangles of prickly weeds underfoot Daphne pointed the wand at that foul nest. "Begin in the center," She sounded quite speculative, "And work your way out. _Incendio_."

As the tangle of ball-sized eggs began to explode beneath the heat of her Charm the witch turned to smile at the squealing Acromantula. "Was that rage enough for you?" Her head of blonde hair tilted tauntingly, "If not, I suppose there is yet more to spare!" Another _Fire-Making Charm_ blew outwards. Only this time it engulfed the Acromantula's skull leaving behind a pair of feebly clicking pincers. Daphne noticed how strange the whole experience was. Whenever she had practiced magic in classes, or when teaching her friends nifty spells, it had always felt so innocent. So _weak_. This moment with all of the… Rage as her fallen foe had called it, was different. Those displays of sorcery had felt stronger and easier than anything Daphne Greengrass had cast before.

Of course, she sighed, it all fled away from her far too quickly. For there was still the matter of having to levitate Kettleburn's useless behind back to the Hospital Wing.

OOOO

"Do you mean to tell me," Gossamer spoke in a slow disbelieving tone, "That you executed an Acromantula."

"Yes," Daphne puffed out in a tumble of smoke inhaled from her meerschaum pipe. Ever the rebel it had become common for Hermione and Gossamer to whisper about their new friend's bad habits. She had smuggled into Hogwarts packages of a magical strain of tobacco which allegedly did not cause premature aging, of that Hermione was still quite skeptical, and several ancient bottles of bourbon. The stream of silvery smoke shaped into the form of a spider because, of course, it had come from an enchanted pipe.

"You did remember that Acromantula Venom is worth one-hundred Galleons a pint then. Yes?" Gossamer punctuated sharply.

"Really?" Daphne's normally arctic eyes lit up like the sun, "That much?"

"Why would either of you care about money?" Hermione asked as she already realized what was about to happen. Both girls were incredibly mischievous. All three of them would be out in those woods the next morning even though Professor McGonagall had forbade Daphne from journeying back into the woods again. _Especially_ with Professor Kettleburn.

"Hermione dear," Daphne sighed another tuft of smoke which instantly formed into a wagging, little finger. "Have you learnt nothing from us in the past two weeks?" That was a determinedly low blow, for the muggleborn certainly had learnt a lot. In addition to all of the Hogwarts curriculum now crammed in her head she was already becoming quite adept at understanding Pureblood culture. At the drop of a hat Hermione could name nearly all of the present members of the Wizengamot. Wizarding politics now made much sense to her after Gossamer had assigned her several ancient legal texts to read. Even now they stood inside of the empty, secluded classroom where the two other girls had somehow persuaded their clumsy friend into dangerously frenetic dancing lessons. Of course, the three of them also illicitly worked on casting upper year spells without supervision in the abandoned space, yet that was another matter entirely.

"I imagine the pair of you dislike having to ask your guardians for money," She retorted smartly, "Though I cannot imagine what manner of things you would want to buy without supervision."

"Advanced books full of dangerous knowledge my Aunts would never approve of," Goss answered dryly.

"Tobacco and gin," Daphne followed up, "As well as Licorice Wands. I do _so_ dearly love sweets, and it is nice to eat them without my mother lecturing me about how I must preserve my figure, and marriageability."

"Your homelife stories sound as barbaric as ever, Daphne Greengrass," Hermione sniffed. Those brown eyes pierced them both suddenly. "I suppose we should all go to bed now if we are to ever dream of having enough energy to slip off into the Forbidden Forest tomorrow morning."

A chuckled surprised the muggleborn enough that she paused to glance at the Girl-Who-Lived. " _Tomorrow_? No. We have to go now. Acromantula venom dries up like you would never believe from what little I have read of it."

"But there is only an hour before curfew!" Hermione spluttered.

"Then we had better start walking, haven't we?" A wicked light filtered into Goss's eyes. Leaving Hermione thinking of insane brilliance.

"What will my cut be?" Hermione asked sternly. "From what we heard Daphne _barely_ got lucky, and a _Professor_ was nearly killed. Convince me why I should be your third wand."

"Someone is learning," Daphne smiled fondly. The muggleborn hated that expression which often flickered across the pureblood's face. Whenever she dug deep and asserted her worth the Greengrass witch would stare at her as though she were some sort of pet. Even though Daphne's views were clearly little less prejudiced than Pansy Parkinson's, Hermione wondered if she was willing to lose a friend over such discomfort. "One-third of whatever spoils are extracted." As they all shook hands the bushy-haired witch decided that she was quite unwilling to jeopardize _this_. Of course, later that evening Hermione learnt fully what the cost of a friendship with the two meant.

Ingredient hunting in the Forbidden Forest, fleeing from Filch during late night excursions, three-headed dogs, and trapdoors.

 _Oh yes_. A constant threat of expulsion as well.

OOOO


End file.
